


The King of Winterfell

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adding characters as I go, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault, Beheading, Council, Cutesy stuff, Death, Decapitation, F/M, Family, Fluff, Future Fic, Hunting, I haven't decided yet, Killing, More characters to come, Skagos, Slow Build, Smut, Some Swearing, The Night's Watch, Traveling, War, Warging, Wedding, Winterfell, adding the fluff, and like other stuff, i need the fluff, skinchangers, some time shifting, spoilers for ADWD, spoilers for AFFC, those are the ones I have plans for though, um, warg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 125,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years secluded on Skagos, Rickon is retrieved by Davos Seaworth to take his place as the heir to Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of canonically accurate: basically it's post ADWD, but everyone's aged up by 9-10 years.

The bark of the wood began to make small spirals as it was carefully stripped off. In truth, this branch was just too big. He should have found a different one. Rickon tossed the branch over his shoulder and grabbed the last branch he had collected. Rolling it between his fingers, he found the thickness much better. Carefully, he sliced a notch into the end and inserted one of his sharpened rocks. He began tying it together tightly when a twig snapped behind him. He glanced over at the familiar wildling woman before turning back to his work.

“Are you planning on supplying an army with arrows?”

Rickon rolled his eyes at the woman and turned to face her. She always seemed at ease to him, like she was entirely comfortable where they were. Skagos was not kind to its inhabitants, getting there alone was hell. Now, they were situated in a valley of jagged mountains that looked like they hadn’t been carved properly. Osha was still looking at him expectantly.

“I want to go hunting,” he said simply, returning to the arrow in his hands. He carefully added fletching onto one end of it.

Osha sat down across from him, picking up one of the completed arrows. Rickon had made at least fifty. It was cathartic for him. After spending five years on this island, Osha and he had become guests to the Magnars of Kinghouse. However, Rickon felt uncomfortable in the walls there and often took it upon himself to leave without reason. Osha would always follow him after a while or seek him out after a few days. It had been nearly a week this time. He had Shaggydog, though. Somewhere out there his direwolf was prowling, hunting on his own and keeping watch for any dangers.

“And how many times do you plan on missing?” Osha asked him, testing out the bonds on the arrows.

“None,” Rickon said, finishing the arrow he was working on.

“Then, you’ll be taking just the one,” Osha said. She gathered up all the arrows that were scattered about his feet. “And I’ll be expectin’ some meat to dig into tonight.”

Biting back a protest, Rickon watched as Osha walked back to Kingshouse. He knew what she meant. He needed to return tonight for some reason or another, and she was testing him for some reason. Now, Rickon had but one arrow for his hunt. Shaggydog could help some, but he was more like to destroy prey past the point of consumption. Still, Rickon needed to set off soon if he was going to make it back before sundown.

“Shaggy!” he called. He allowed himself one call to his wolf per hunt. If not, he was going to scare off prey. A massive, pure-black direwolf came out of the underbrush, coming up to Rickon’s side. He placed a hand in Shaggydog’s fur, mussing it slightly. Then, he set off to find his prey.

On Skagos, Rickon was always sure-footed. He could travel through all the hills, valleys, and mountains without ever losing his step. Of course, Rickon had been here for years. It was the familiarity of the place that made it possible. Winter had set in long ago, covering Skagos in a layer of snow. The cold never bothered Rickon, though. He owned no clothing that was lined in fur and had refused a pair of boots with fur lining when offered to him. Instead, he had a simple woolen doublet and leather jerkin that Osha had made for him once she figured he’d stopped growing for a while. He had a pair of boots for hunting and a pair for warmth that were almost untouched. He didn’t need furs. He had Shaggydog when he needed him.

Following an elk that he caught the trail of, Rickon followed as quietly and steadily as he could. Shaggydog would loop around to corner the animal, and he’d have a clear shot at it. After that, he’d have to chase it down quickly to make the kill. Rickon felt Shaggydog start to move away from him even though he couldn’t see his direwolf. He travelled along the set path, breaching the crest of a hill. Something caught his line of vision – something that didn’t belong there.

Docked quite a ways away from shore, a ship sat on the waves. It wasn’t moving any closer, nor was it moving any farther. It appeared to be catching frost, some of the rigging looked worse for wear and Rickon could see ice beginning to form on the wood.

That was extremely out of place for Skagos. No one came here. Even when people were sent, more often than not they returned to the mainland as bones than one piece. And that was if they returned at all.

Rickon turned away from the ship and quickly went back to the trail of the elk. Shaggydog was fast-approaching it, and he needed to get on the scene before Shaggydog made the elk his own meal. At the next glimpse of the elk, Rickon nocked an arrow into his bow. His one shot – he’d have to make it count. He took a few more steps forward, set his aim to avoid a long chase, and loosed the arrow.

Without waiting to see if it landed, Rickon raced forward, pulling out his knife. The elk had belatedly tried to run. It seemed to be in shock that an arrow had sprouted from its neck. Rickon quickly moved to slash its neck and ended the elk’s life. He pulled the arrow out of the neck of the beast when he heard a low growling coming from behind him.

“Go hunt, then!” Rickon called to Shaggydog. “Quickly.”

Rickon examined all the trees in the area. There was one that looked like it’d have strong enough boughs to support the weight, but it was a small distance away. Grabbing the hind legs of the elk in his arms, he slowly but surely made his way under the branch. Then, Rickon set himself to tying the elk’s hind legs up, making sure to knot the rope securely. He tied the other end of the rope to a sizeable rock for weight, then tossed the rock over the branch. With all of his body weight, Rickon managed to just barely lift the elk enough to allow the blood to drain out of its neck.

Once the blood was drained, Rickon lifted the elk further until it was a few feet in the air. He tied the remainder of the rope around a nearby tree and waited for Shaggydog to return.

About five minutes later, the direwolf came back to the felled elk. He immediately went to smell the blood on the ground before Rickon called him over and forced him to bear the load of his kill. Shaggydog came reluctantly, and Rickon secured the elk to his direwolf. Together, Rickon and Shaggydog made their way back to Kingshouse.

He dumped the elk off in the kitchens, loudly yelling that if anyone wanted dinner, they could cook it themselves because he had done the hard work already. Osha met him halfway up to the stairs.

“So found yourself a kill or just gave up early?” she asked, crossing her arms and blocking his path.

Rickon rolled his eyes at her. “I’m covered in blood, woman. What do you think I was doing?”

He pushed past her, attempting to smear some of the drying blood on her. She threw her head back and laughed, letting him through.

“I’ll cook up your cut for you, m’lord,” she called sarcastically. “As befits a kitchen wench like meself. You’ll have to find some other blushing maid to bring you hot water for your bath.”

Resisting the urge to tell her off, Rickon went to his designated quarters. While the people of Skagos were technically subjects of Winterfell, Rickon expected no special treatment for his surname. Osha had pulled some sort of magic trickery, making her a subject of desire for the Magnars and earning Rickon some sort of status in Kingshouse. Still, all the men here refused to kneel before him, and Rickon would accept no man who dared.

His quarters were sparsely decorated. Extra sets of clothes were piled into a trunk, and a separate trunk kept the furs that people had gifted to him. He used none of them save for a cloak on occasion. Rickon lit a fire for a small amount of warmth before he stripped down to take a quick bath. His bath was one of necessity rather than luxury. He scraped at his scalp to get the blood out of it, and rubbed out the other splotches of blood on his body. Then, he went over his body once more before drying off and putting a different set of clothes on. 

After pulling on his boots, he began walking down to the kitchen while buttoning his doublet, knowing that Osha was only somewhat likely to cook a meal for him. While Osha still harbored some maternal feelings toward him, she was also a free woman and didn’t take lightly to being treated as anything but free. Rickon rounded the turn into the kitchen and found Osha biting into a cooked piece of meat.

“Good, then?” Rickon asked, walking past her on his way off.

“Good enough that I actually made you yours.” Osha used her chin to point over at another plate.

Rickon settled down next to her, grabbing a chunk of meat and sinking his teeth into it. He glanced over at the woman beside him, feeling a growing sensation of comfort in his chest. She had been the only mother he had ever known, and he still found that he rather enjoyed getting special treatment from her, even if he was cold to her sometimes.

With a full belly, Rickon found himself salting a few other cuts of meat and storing them in small bags in case he decided to run off again. He could usually spend a few days hanging around Kingshouse, but he always got restless. There weren’t many people around his age to play with, and even if there were Rickon felt like he had outgrown playing long ago. Now, he hunted to relieve the stress of nothing and dreamed for the small chance of seeing Bran again.

Remembering Bran sent a small pang through his chest. His brother had left beyond the Wall. He was somewhere out there. Rickon knew he wasn’t dead. He knew he would feel something if his brother died. But still, he couldn’t help but worry about his crippled brother beyond the Wall with two crannogmen and Hodor to keep him safe.

In attempt to put that thought to rest, Rickon decided to prepare for bed. He went so far as to grab a second fur for a blanket, knowing that Shaggydog would not be near to warm his bed. Settling into the straw mattress, Rickon drifted off to sleep.

Rickon dreamed he was Shaggydog. He often had dreams like this – dreams that felt more real every time they happened. Rickon relished in the excitement of his wolf dreams. Even at night, Shaggydog was active, seeking out prey or exploring some unknown corner of Skagos. The wind whipping against his face even felt refreshing, and he could taste the spray of salt water in his mouth. Rickon felt like this dreaming was a simple reflection of running as Shaggydog until he saw the ship.

Still docked offshore, the ship was settled amongst the trashing waves. Something was different, though. Along the shore, a small dingy was settled into the sand of the beach. Carefully, he trotted over to it, inspecting it to see if it had any familiar scents. It must have docked on shore just before the sun set. No one would dare sail to Skagos without light. They must be trying to find the Kingshouse. At night, though? It was pretty dangerous. For a moment, Rickon considered trying to find the sailor who had chanced a trip onto the mainland.

After following the steps to the edge of the forest, Rickon decided to drop the scent. Shaggydog might find it interesting, but he was over it. Sailors randomly washed ashore sometimes. It wasn’t a big deal. The wildlife was likely to scare them off soon enough. If not, the people would.

Rickon slipped out of the dream easily enough, letting a dreamless sleep wash over him until morning. At sunrise, Rickon resisted the urge to climb out of bed and do something. He instead rolled about under his furs and postponed his waking. When Rickon started to feel completely useless, he finally got up and put on clothes for the day before heading down to see if someone made breakfast.

Osha had apparently bullied some women into cooking. There were scents of various meats and breads wafting through the halls. Rickon was about to go into the hall when he froze. Someone new was there, and he seemed to be mid-speech.

Rickon carefully examined the man. He was definitely a sailor. An older man, he looked completely worn, as if he had seen many battles and even more death. Still, there was something about him that indicated he lived at sea. One of his hands wasn’t moving quite properly, and Rickon started to wonder if he was missing fingers. 

It wasn’t until the man turned to face him that he realized the conversation had shifted. Rickon looked to Osha for help. The man spoke up first.

“Lord Stark,” he began. “I am Davos Seaworth, Hand of the One True King Stannis Baratheon, and I have been sent to return you to the mainland so you may take your seat as the rightful heir to Winterfell.”

The man took a few paces toward Rickon before bending the knee. Rickon simply threw back his head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So this is a thing that popped into my head. It's pretty open to changes and lots of possibilities. I only have a few chapters planned out, and I don't know how long it'll go for. If there's anything you'd like to see, let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Laughter rang through the hall of Kingshouse for a while before dying down. Rickon ignored the man kneeling before him and walked over to Osha, taking a chunk of bread from her. The man faltered, watching the young boy behave so poorly. Rickon took Osha’s cup of wine and took a swig from it, as well, before setting it back on the table.

“My lord,” Davos called, hastily getting to his feet. He hesitated a few steps away from the table. “The king requests your presence.”

“Now, there be only one king for the north,” Magnar said over Davos. “The king in the north by the name of Stark.”

Rickon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It had taken a year to get the Skagosi to stop calling him ‘king’ or ‘lord.’ Now, some southerner was here to screw things up again. Rickon felt like leaving the hall altogether, but he held himself in place. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at the man and watched him recoil slightly. A younger man was standing behind him, but he hadn’t yet said anything. Rickon couldn’t find it within him to treat these people like guests. Instead, he sat down and started eating.

“Come join us,” Osha said. Rickon could feel her glare. “And we can discuss matters… Lord…”

They ate in relative silence; Rickon was stealing glances at the guests. He didn’t know what they needed, or if he’d even be willing to cooperate. Spending the last few years on Skagos hadn’t helped. Very few ravens existed that could find their way here. Rickon tore at his meal, hoping that Osha would help him.

“What would you have the boy do?” Osha asked. She pushed the remainder of the meal aside.

“He’s to take his seat as the heir to Winterfell,” Davos said. “King Stannis plans to march on Winterfell as soon as he gathers some of the mountain lords to his cause. Having a Stark backing Stannis would help his forces. Once he is seated as Warden of the North, he can choose to run the North as he sees fit.”

“You mean to make him a kneeler?” Osha asked.

“Only to Stannis, and only until the war is over,” Davos said.

Rickon let the words wash over him. He never wanted the title, and he had been separated from it for a long time. He had almost forgotten his inheritance.

“I have a brother,” Rickon announced.

Davos shuffled in his seat. “I am afraid that Lord Bran is entirely unaccounted for,” Davos said slowly.

“I cannot take a seat as heir to Winterfell unless my brother is dead,” Rickon said.

“He’s likely to be at this point,” Davos said.

Rickon stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. He drew a knife and slammed it into the table by Davos’s hand. “My brother is alive,” Rickon sneered. “I refuse to take his claim.”

With that, Rickon swept from the hall. He returned to his room briefly before running off to find Shaggydog. They couldn’t ask him to take Bran’s place. Bran was older, he had experience ruling Winterfell, he could handle it. Rickon did not think himself capable. He ran to the only Heart Tree he had managed to find on Skagos.

The carved face of the weirwood seemed to be laughing at him. Rickon turned his back to the tree and leaned against it. He wasn’t Bran. He couldn’t do what Bran could do. Bran was far more skilled to complete this task than he was. Still, he knew he had other siblings once upon a time. He tried to bring them to memory, but they were faint. 

He remembered their direwolves better. A sister had died young, but her spirit was alive, protected but vulnerable. A brother had died close to his prime, but both of those spirits were gone. They had left the safety of the North, and they had suffered for it. There was another he could feel, living comfortably in the North, but in constant turmoil. Then there was his brother, his _real_ brother as far as he was concerned, far up North, almost lost to the wilderness up there. And the last, a sister, was lost somewhere. She didn’t belong there either, but she wasn’t in danger.

Rickon let out a heavy sigh. Shaggydog appeared on the edge of his vision. Rickon looked up at his direwolf who promptly growled at him. Rickon tossed a rock at Shaggydog, making him take a step back. Shaggydog let out a heavier growl at Rickon who glared at him in return.

“Out with you!” Rickon recognized Osha’s voice from behind him. She settled down next to him near the tree. “Upset, little lord?”

“I am not a lord!” Rickon snapped. He snuck back into his arms. “Bran’s a lord. Bran knows what to do. I am a wildling.”

Osha let out a laugh. “Not a wildling,” Osha said, putting an arm around him. “A free man. Free to make your own choices, and free to take what you want.”

“I do not want Winterfell,” Rickon muttered.

“Might not want it,” Osha said. “But it is yours. None but a Stark can hold Winterfell. The North wants you.”

“I do not want it.”

“You want it to be your brother’s, is that it?” Osha asked. “You want him to come back and make you feel safe. Same reason you refuse to leave me, right?”

Rickon felt heat rising to his face. He wasn’t clingy. He had Osha. Regardless of what everyone had tried to do to him, she had kept him safe. Maybe he relied on her presence more than he should have, but he had no parental guidance growing up. They had left them and now they were gone.

“Take Winterfell,” Osha said. “You can unite the North, get your brother back, and then send me one of them ravens with words I can’t read.”

“You mean words I can’t write?” Rickon asked.

Osha nodded. “Those words,” she confirmed. “Make them all big and fancy for me, and then I can see if I might actually leave Skagos for you.”

“You just want Winterfell for yourself,” Rickon said, pulling out of Osha’s reach.

“Caught me,” Osha said, giving him a small smile.

Rickon stood up. “Only for you,” he said. “But you better not be dead when I come back for you.”

Osha let out a hearty laugh. “As if any of this lot could take me.”

“I meant from age,” Rickon said, sticking his tongue out at his surrogate mother. He ignored the stinging that started in his eyes. “And that can only be if they can get Shaggy on a boat.”

“That man’s lost a few fingers before,” Osha said. “I reckon this might be worth another.”

\--

It took days for Davos to coax Shaggydog onto the ship. Rickon always sat on the shore nearby to watch their attempts. Shaggydog wasn’t kind to anyone but Rickon approaching him. Long ago, Bran and Summer could tame him, but Skagos had only amplified his wild behavior.

Osha had packed a bag for Rickon, giving him three extras sets of clothes, two extra sets of boots, and two heavy furs. Rickon tried to be grateful that she was helping, but he thought it was excessive. He barely wore enough clothing on Skagos, Winterfell couldn’t be worse.

“Headed to Castle Black first,” Osha told him on the second day. “Where your brother was headed.”

Rickon shook his head. “Bran’s beyond the Wall,” he said. “I would know if he was any closer.”

“Are you making this harder for them?” she asked Rickon.

“Shaggy just doesn’t like people,” Rickon said, watching Shaggydog snap at the man who had come with Davos, almost taking his hand.

“Away from Wex,” Davos called, holding out a slab of meat for Shaggydog. “Come eat this instead.”

Shaggydog briefly considered the man before running back into the forests of Skagos. It could be hours before he got near enough to try again. Davos threw down the meat, sitting down on the sand as well. Rickon went to return to Kingshouse, hoping for another meal. All his possessions were currently on the ship sitting on the currents, he had nothing to do but watch them try and get Shaggydog to take to the boat. If Shaggydog was stubborn enough, Rickon might have to go to the ship just to get his things.

On the third day, Shaggydog became much more cooperative. Davos was sitting on the sand, trying to get Shaggydog to sit next to him. Rickon watched Shaggydog slowly approach the man before laying down a few paces behind him. It briefly occurred to Rickon that Shaggydog might just be playing, but he seemed calm. A few minutes later, Davos had managed to lead Shaggydog in distance of the dingy.

“Looks like even your wolf can be tamed,” Osha said, ruffling Rickon’s hair.

“He caught a scent,” Rickon said. “Not a familiar one, but a comfortable one.”

Osha raised her eyebrows at Rickon. “Never done that before.”

Rickon nodded in response, watching as Shaggydog tentatively put a paw in the dingy. “Shaggy would never lead me to harm.”

“Maybe he was waiting for the tides to settle,” Osha suggested. “Either way, that boat’s leaving soon, and you are going to be on it.”

“Next time you see a direwolf, I will be on my way to come get you,” Rickon said. “And you better come willing.”

“Anything for m’lord,” Osha said, feigning a curtsy. “You go take Winterfell for me so I can give it to free folk.”

Rickon pushed Osha aside and followed his direwolf into the boat, lifting a hand in farewell. Davos and Wex rowed them to the ship where rigging was sent down. It was supposed to help Shaggydog get to the ship safely, but he began growling so loudly that it took much longer than it should have. Rickon noticed that a few spots on the ship’s hull were covered in frost, but the ship still looked fit for sailing. Rickon climbed a rope ladder ahead of Shaggydog to lure him onto the deck. Wex was white with fright from being so close to the direwolf. Rickon simply laughed and went to explore the deck.

A small crew met with him, briefly introducing themselves before going about to prepare the ship for sail. They didn’t seem to know who he was, or if they did, they didn’t care. He shrugged it off and watched the men prepare the ship. A minute later, Shaggydog bounded over the railing of the ship, sending a few men to the floor in fright. He shook himself and began smelling at his surroundings. Rickon knew what he was doing, he was trying to catch the scent again.

“That one stays in the stables,” a crewman said.

“Only if you want to lose whatever you have in there,” Rickon called back.

A few crew members looked miffed by his comment. The first continued to face Rickon squarely. “Then it stays with you.”

Rickon shrugged, leading Shaggydog through the ship’s narrow halls and into his designated cabin. Shaggydog circled the perimeter a few times before tapping the door with his nose. Rickon went to his straw bed and sat on it. Shaggydog went to prod Rickon a few times before returning to the door.

“No, Shaggy,” Rickon said. “You scare people, so we need to stay in here. Davos packed some meat for you, though. Maybe you should stay with him.”

Shaggydog continued to poke Rickon and the door until the ship began to move. Then, Shaggydog went down and began a long, low growl. Rickon rolled over onto the bed. It was going to be a long trip, if anything, and he still wasn’t sure he wanted to see it through. He definitely couldn’t convince the crew to turn back, though, so he just had to see it through.

On board, just about everyone ignored him due to the massive direwolf that followed him around. Only Davos seemed interested in talking to him, but Shaggydog’s interest in Davos often scared him off. After a few nights of sailing, Davos found Rickon out on the deck, watching a light on the horizon.

“We should dock tomorrow,” Davos said. He was huddled under several layers of clothes and three furs. “Then, we trek to Castle Black. Stannis was there last I heard.”

Rickon furrowed his brow. “How long ago was that?” he asked, moving a hand through Shaggydog’s fur.

“A while ago,” Davos said. Rickon took note of the vague response. “But his queen will be there, and we can find Stannis shortly after.”

Rickon felt that “shortly” could mean any indeterminate amount of time. He decided against voicing his concerns. Regardless of how long this took, he was in it for the long-haul. Shaggydog slowly left Rickon’s touch to sniff at Davos. Rickon saw the man recoil slightly.

“You have a scent that he likes,” Rickon said. “Not yours, something faint on you. He wants to know what it is.”

“Explains a lot,” Davos said. He raised a hand to try to pet Shaggydog, but the direwolf growled at him. “Not too friendly?”

Rickon shrugged. “He has no reason to be.”

The conversation fell. Rickon’s words were clear. He didn’t trust Davos or his companions. He had other motives for going on this journey. It wasn’t an optimistic outlook to a companionship that could span the next few years.

“You should keep warm,” Davos said. “The frost could kill you.”

“No,” Rickon said simply. “It can’t.”

He whistled softly and Shaggydog came to rest at his feet. Rickon settled against his direwolf, looking out at the horizon. The darkness of the night blended the sky with the sea, but the light split through it, making a line that marked where the sky hit the land. It all looked so flat to Rickon, and he couldn’t even see a wall. Maybe it was only visible during the day. After a while, Rickon called to Shaggydog and they returned to their cabin.

Rickon wanted to see the Wall that his brother had crossed long ago on his journey, but it was a night away. He’d have to wait for morning see what separated the free folk from the remainder of Westeros.

\--  
   
Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was sleeping in the early morning. Very few faces were out and about, and Davos seemed thankful for the lack of eyes. As Rickon got off the ship, he focused on the Wall. It was much taller than he expected it to be. But more than that, he noticed that this was where it ended. Here, wildings could cross with a fair amount of ease given enough leniencies in security. Unfortunately, the Night’s Watch seemed to exist entirely to keep them separate. Rickon frowned at the thought.

“We head south for cover,” Davos said from behind him. Rickon noticed that he seemed sad to be leaving the ship. Behind him, Wex seemed to share the sentiment.

“Forest cover?” Rickon asked. “Aren’t the castles of the Night’s Watch abandoned?”

Davos shook his head. “Not anymore, my lord,” he said. “The Lord Commander has had them garrisoned recently. We’ll be lucky to cross one abandoned castle for cover.”

Rickon shrugged, hoisting his bag of supplies over his shoulder. “I suppose Shaggydog stays hidden?”

Davos and Wex regarded the direwolf. “Aye,” Davos said. “He’s like to scare off enough people, but he might make some try to hunt us.”

“Let them try,” Rickon said, hiding a smirk. He marched off toward the cover of the forest, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. Once he neared the end of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he whistled and Shaggydog went running past him into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aiming for one chapter a week for this one. Mostly, so I can have time to research anything necessary and polish up grammatical errors. Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

“You know there’s not much forest cover here, right?” Rickon called.

He had been walking along with Davos and Wex for the last week, keeping sight of the Wall at all times. While Davos had wanted to take cover in the forest to prevent people from seeing Rickon, there were few trees on this side of the Wall. Rickon was slightly irked by the lack of planning, but they were making good time on their way to Castle Black. Already, they had passed six castles of the Night’s Watch. The last one they passed had been the only one that had been abandoned, and the company had been grateful for some shielding from the forces of nature. Regardless of the ice that flowed through Rickon’s blood, it was cold up north, and even he needed some protection from the ice.

“The other side is too risky,” Davos said. “Not just cause of the wildlings, neither. Others are there… and wights.”

Rickon knew the stories. They were some of the scarier ones that Old Nan used to tell them when he was little. Osha had told him about them, too. They were the reason she came down from beyond the Wall and why she would never return. Rickon had to admit that he was curious about the Others, but he wasn’t foolish enough to go searching for them on his own. Besides, he didn’t even know if Shaggydog would want to go see them as well.

“How far to Castle Black?” Rickon asked, looking around. There appeared to be some sort of forest cover on the horizon, but he had no idea how long it would take to get there. Maybe he could go hunting soon.

“One day at most,” Davos replied. “If we travel through night, we could make it there by morning.”

Rickon sighed, but kept his pace up. If anything, the constant movement kept them warm and he would rather keep going straight through the night than stop and potentially freeze over. Shaggydog had odd running habits while they went along. Occasionally, he would run off in front of them at full speed and then wait for them to catch up, but sometimes he would sprint behind them, scaring Wex and Davos. Rickon paid it no mind. He knew Shaggydog would always come back to him.

This time, Shaggydog was running toward the Wall. Rickon paused to watch his dog run off. Usually, when Shaggydog went toward the Wall, Davos made Rickon call him back, but he just kept on moving. Rickon watched the hardened man press on, and he went along with him.

“He found another Castle,” Rickon said. 

“Oakenshield,” Davos responded. “We may make it to Castle Black by nightfall if the weather holds.”

Rickon checked the skies. They were relatively clear, but a few clouds were looming in the distance. Slipping into Shaggydog, Rickon sniffed at the air. There might be a storm coming, but it could easily miss them. He looked around. Oakenshield was garrisoned. The Night’s Watch had definitely come across a good number of members from what he last heard of it. With a sigh, he left Shaggydog to roam and continued the walk to Castle Black.

Nightfall was earlier in the winter, and the sky was starting to get speckled with various colors. Rickon looked to the Wall to see it reflecting the different colors of the sunset. Next to him, Shaggydog alerted to a scent, and Rickon immediately caught it. Deer.

“Off to hunt,” Rickon said simply. He picked up his pace as Shaggydog ran off into a partially-wooded area.

“We’ll be at Castle Black soon,” Davos warned.

“Then maybe we can have a proper dinner when we get there.”

He ran off after his direwolf, crunching the snow under his boots with every footfall. The mainland of Westeros was much more flat than Skagos had been. Running here felt odd, like he should expect dips and bumps and places to hide. Instead, all he had were a few trees and the occasional snowbank. Rickon pulled out his bow as he ran, loosely setting an arrow against it. Sneaking up on the animal would be a problem, but he trusted Shaggydog to lure it into a good position for a shot. He followed the trail Shaggydog laid out for him for a few minutes before slowing down to keep his footfalls silent.

He slowly rounded a tree, keeping his movements as quiet as he could manage. A deer was ahead of him, and Shaggydog was on the other side crouched down low. Carefully, Rickon raised his bow and took aim at the deer. He tried to settle his feet, sliding one out a small bit to keep his stance firm. He felt the ice beginning to slip under his foot, so he loosed the arrow. Quickly gaining his footing back, he looked up to see the deer under Shaggydog’s massive paws.

“Good boy,” Rickon said. He pulled out a dagger as he neared the deer and ended its life quickly. The bright red blood quickly flowed from its neck and stained the snow. 

Shaggydog was already digging under the deer’s haunches, pressing down to lift the animal and let the blood drain quickly. Rickon resisted the urge to laugh at his direwolf and helped pull the deer onto Shaggydog’s back. The direwolf began to growl with impatience as Rickon dragged the deer on his back. It was a slow process, but Rickon eventually got the deer secured to the wolf. Together, they began the walk back to Castle Black.

As Rickon and Shaggydog got to the gates of Castle Black, the sun was just setting beyond the horizon. The gate opened without question and Rickon walked into the courtyard of the Night’s Watch. All around were men of all ages wandering around and going about their duties. A few of them shot looks in his direction, suspicious of his massive direwolf. For the most part, they ignored him until he cut the carcass from Shaggydog’s back. Then a man of the watch approached him.

“Food,” Rickon said tersely. “If you want it.”

He swept away from the man, following Shaggydog who was now intently smelling at the floor. Rickon could tell that his direwolf was having difficulties deciding which scent to follow first. Shaggydog was kept changing his path every time another scent crossed his nose, and he was making a winding trail in the courtyard.

“Another direwolf?” someone behind him said.

Rickon turned to face an older man who was looking appreciatively at Shaggydog. The man seemed more impressed by his presence than anything else. Shaggydog briefly regarded the man before turning away. The man seemed to take this as a sort of acceptance and reached out to touch Shaggydog. In one move, the direwolf turned and snapped its jaw within an inch of the man’s hand.

“Did you want to lose a limb?” Rickon asked coldly.

“Not a nice one,” the man said, taking a step back. He extended a hand to Rickon. “Leathers.”

“His name is Shaggydog,” Rickon said, taking the man’s hand briefly. He looked around at the various buildings being lit with torches. They were preparing for a long night.

“And yours?”

Rickon turned back to the man and carefully regarded him. He wasn’t a man of Westeros, not in the way Rickon was supposed to be. He was rougher, harder. He’d seen a lot of life and even more death. Rickon smirked. He was a wildling.

“Rickon,” he said. He quickly turned as Shaggydog caught another scent and took off, much faster than before. Rickon swore under his breath before chasing after him.

Shaggydog was attempting to find his way into the towers of Castle Black and Davos was in front of him, blocking his path. The direwolf sniffed at the man earnestly before trying to get past him. Shockingly, Davos held his place.

“Back with you!” Davos told Shaggydog, elicting a growl.

Shaggydog was preparing to leap over Davos when a mass of white fur crashed into him, and two direwolves went down into the snow. Rickon blinked slowly. Shaggydog had always been familiar to Rickon. He was loud, quick to attack, ferocious, and pure black. Now, he appeared to be facing his exact opposite. The direwolf standing across from him was quiet, steady, and pure white. Rickon knew the direwolf, though faintly. This direwolf was a distant memory.

Rickon took a small step forward. “Ghost?”

The white direwolf turned to him, regarding him carefully. Rickon took another step forward, more certain this time. It was one of Shaggydog’s brothers, one of the remaining members of his litter. Rickon reached out a hand to pet Ghost, but Shaggydog barked at him. Rickon knocked Shaggydog’s head to the side, before going back to Ghost and carefully stroking his thick fur. This animal was extremely peaceful, especially compared to the chaos that reigned in Shaggydog.

When Rickon finally looked up from Ghost, he found Davos standing a few feet away. A look of pure awe was on his face, most likely from seeing two creatures of legend standing before him. Hesitantly, he cleared his throat.

“The Lord Commander requests your presence,” Davos said, never taking his eyes off the direwolves. “I will, erm, watch the wolf during your leave.”

“No need,” Rickon said. “He can stay with his brother.”

Rickon gave Shaggydog a rough rub between the ears before going to stand expectantly in front of Davos. As if waking from a dream, Davos came to attention and led Rickon into Castle Black. The castle itself had definitely seen better days. They were likely recovering from a battle of sorts. While Rickon had been isolated from the quarrels of the Seven Kingdoms, Osha had told him enough. He knew that several men had declared themselves king and waged war to declare their right to the throne. The Wall seemed to have a different threat and several more coming.

Davos led Rickon a short way to the Lord Commander’s chambers, and Rickon was surprised when they didn’t climb the tower that appeared to be reserved for someone in command. Instead, they were in a small room with a man only ten years his senior standing before him. The Lord Commander was looking down when they entered at pieces of parchment. Letters from the remainder of the realm.

“Davos,” the Lord Commander said, not looking up. “Thank you for your assistance, I’m sure the queen will appreciate your presence, having the Hand nearby.”

“I mean to make for King Stannis soon,” Davos replied. “He will need council. And I have another request for you.”

“Oh?” The Lord Commander finally looked up, immediately locking eyes with Rickon. He froze in his shock, the parchment in his hand drifting back to the table.

Rickon held his gaze, but he kept his expression guarded. This man was vaguely familiar. There was something about his look that Rickon remembered from his childhood, but it was faint and distorted. It was too long ago. Rickon couldn’t remember.

The Lord Commander seemed to break, pressing a hand down on the table to hold his weight. Rickon noticed that he was blinking back tears. He swallowed hard and choked out, “Robb?”

Instinctively, Rickon took a step back and moved to grab a dagger. Robb, he remembered. His eldest brother, destined to be heir to Winterfell, but his bannermen had declared him King in the North. He was gone. His direwolf, too. Slowly, Rickon shook his head.

“Commander,” Davos said. “This is Rickon Stark, the heir to Winterfell.”

At that, the Lord Commander seemed to sober up. “Of course,” he said. “It’s been too long, and Robb is gone… Rickon, you’re alive.”

The Lord Commander moved to embrace him and Rickon immediately moved out of the way, pulling out the dagger. The man froze again, looking shocked at his reaction.

"Rickon?" he said tentatively. "Rickon, it's me. Jon Snow."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon meets Jon Snow and Queen Selyse Baratheon.

Jon Snow.

Rickon was on alert watching this man. He was dressed in all black, which only added to the darkness of him. He had a lean build with dark brown hair and gray eyes. His long face had a hint of familiarity to Rickon. And his name… it was only slightly familiar. Rickon felt wired with unease. He did not know if he was supposed to know this man or how he should react if he did.

“Jon Snow?” Rickon repeated tentatively. He narrowed his eyes at the man.

Davos cleared his throat loudly. “Jon Snow is Ned Stark’s bastard,” he said. “He came to the Wall, swore his vows, and is currently Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Rickon looked back to Davos. He knew Ned Stark was his father. All the men on Skagos knew who Ned Stark was. Even if the Skagosi were thought to be savages, they were technically subjects of Winterfell. Jon Snow did look familiar, but he didn’t feel familiar to Rickon. He didn’t feel like a brother.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?” Rickon asked, trying not to be completely unsettled by the Lord Commander.

Jon Snow let out a heavy sigh. He turned away from Rickon and went back to his table of letters. “A Stark must hold Winterfell,” he said, matter-of-factly. “King Stannis is marching to remove the Boltons from the castle. However, I received this.”

He held out a letter to Rickon. A few seconds passed before Rickon took the paper, he stared down at the words. Just scratches of ink on a piece of parchment. How did anyone gather information from this? Rickon screwed up his face in concentration, trying to discern any kind of information. After a minute, he handed it back to Jon.

“What does it say?” Rickon asked. Jon looked at him blankly until he added, “I can’t read.”

Giving Rickon a sad look, Jon took the letter and said, “The bastard of Lord Bolton has been legitimized, and he has wed Arya Stark, our sister – _your_ sister. He intends to hold Winterfell in her name.”

Rickon shook his head slowly. “Arya,” he tested out the name, trying to fit which wolf felt closest to hers. He knew the direwolves better than he did his siblings. Part of him felt pathetic about it, but another part just blamed everyone else. “Arya is the younger… She cannot… Bran is heir to Winterfell.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “Yes, Bran is next in line to hold Winterfell,” Jon said. “But no one knows where Bran is, much less if he’s alive.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Rickon met Jon’s eyes and realized what he was doing. Jon wanted to go after their sister, but he had duties here. He needed Rickon to go in his stead. But if Rickon went, he would be put in the seat of Winterfell. He didn’t want that, either. Instead, he went with the third option.

“Bran’s alive.”

“How do you know?” Jon sighed. “No one has heard of him in months. And even I don’t know if he survived that fall.”

Rickon winced. “He did. Bran – he’s – he can’t walk, but he’s alive. Winterfell is his.”

Davos made a small noise of dissent, catching Jon’s attention again. Davos took a small step forward. “Regardless of who is to hold Winterfell – Lady Arya, Lord Bran, or Lord Rickon,” he hesitated to throw Rickon a quick look. “The Boltons must be removed from their hold. I will go to aid King Stannis however I can. I will send someone as needed for Lord Stark.”

“As needed?” Rickon asked, suddenly much more irked. “I thought I was fighting with you.”

“The risk is too high,” Davos said simply. “You need to stay here where you are safe. King Stannis will deal with the Boltons, and then we will remove Lady Arya from power to put you in your seat.”

Rickon turned to Jon for another perspective. Unfortunately, Jon looked like he was in agreement with Davos.

“It _is_ the best course of action,” Jon said finally. “We cannot risk the lives of more Starks, regardless of who deserves Winterfell. Will you be seeing the queen before you take your leave?”

Davos nodded solemnly. “I must inform Queen Selyse of our plans and let her know that the North will soon be safe to travel,” he said. “She must wish to leave the Wall soon.”

“I will let you give her the information,” Jon said, returning to his letters. “And I will have someone clear out a room for Rickon.”

Rickon studied his supposed half-brother. Something about him was off. He was holding back some sort of information. Rickon decided to let it go. It probably didn’t concern him anyway. “Shaggy’s staying with me.”

Jon looked up at that. “Your direwolf?”

Rickon nodded. “He always returns to me at night,” he explained. “So the room must be big enough to fit he and I both.”

“I never thought to sleep with Ghost,” Jon said contemplatively. “But I shall make sure you have the necessary accommodations.”

With that, Rickon followed Davos out of the room, intending on locating his direwolf and finding something to eat. However, Davos had other ideas, pulling him into one of the towers of Castle Black. Rickon almost slipped on the slick wood from being pulled in a different direction. He took three quick steps to regain his footing before following Davos.

“Why am I going to see this queen?” Rickon asked. “I don’t care about her.”

“You need to declare for her cause,” Davos said. “She will expect it of you if you are to take Winterfell.”

Rickon pulled out of Davos’s hold and took a step back. “I’m not declaring for anyone’s cause,” he said sharply. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I liked being on Skagos, and I don’t care much for Winterfell either. It was burned down last I saw of it.”

Davos grabbed Rickon by the collar and pulled him close. “Listen here, boy,” he said evenly. “You _will_ declare for Queen Selyse and offer her whatever support you can. Her husband is fighting for your right to Winterfell.”

This time, Rickon allowed himself to roll his eyes, as he wrenched himself out of Davos’s grip. “I never asked him to,” he spat back. “And your precious king is only helping me to further his place in your stupid game of kings. I want no part of it. If I want Winterfell, I will take it myself.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Davos regarded Rickon. “And how do you expect to make it through Lord Bolton’s army?”

Rickon shrugged. “Maybe with all them northern lords you keep saying will join my cause,” he said. “Or I’ll sneak in and slit their throats like the wilding I am!”

Davos continued to stare at Rickon, his expression guarded. “Even wildlings know how to take help,” he said. “Why do you think so many of them are here?”

Looking around, Rickon saw some men leaving a hall that seemed to be glowing with warmth. His stomach began to growl as he remembered his earlier kill. The scent of the meal was starting to reach them, and his thoughts were suddenly full of venison. It had been hours since he’d last eaten. He focused back on Davos. Surely, the man was willing to drag him up to the Queen’s tower. Rickon didn’t doubt his abilities to escape his attempts and possibly injure him in the process, but he didn’t have any ill will toward the man. He just wanted his dinner.

“Well, go on, then,” Rickon said. “Lead the way.”

Rickon followed Davos up through the tower, where a few men were standing around. A part of Rickon realized that this must be the Queen’s guard, but they looked much too lax for the title. They were all dressed warmly, but casually. They were also leaning against the walls of the hallway, not bothering to correct their posture for the guest.

“I’ve come with information for the Queen,” Davos announced.

One of the men groaned. “Of course, Ser Onion Knight,” he said. “Shall I announce your arrival?”

The men were all grinning at each other, nudging one another and holding back laughter. Rickon could tell that they were intentionally disrespecting Davos. He felt an urge to hurt them. The men paid them absolutely no mind. They hadn’t even bothered to continue watching them. Rickon could easily get away with killing one of them, but he knew that Davos wouldn’t like it.

“You might want to tell her that he brought a wildling,” Rickon said, grinning evilly. “I’m sure she’d want notice.”

The men immediately stiffened at his words. Rickon crossed his arms for good measure. One of the men straightened up and went into the room behind them. Davos shot Rickon a warning look, but Rickon ignored him. For someone who was supposed to be the Hand of the King, he sure took disrespect far too easily. After a few moments, the man returned with his head bowed.

“The Queen will see you,” he said shortly before pressing himself against the wall.

Following Davos inside, Rickon made sure to glare at the guard until he was completely inside. The room itself was incredibly warm. Rickon felt like he had stepped into a kitchen. A fire was roaring in the brazier, as well as in several other spot around the room. Rickon found that he didn’t have words for them. Continuing to survey the room, Rickon caught sight of a few red ornaments and a banner with a stag over a flaming heart. Unsurprisingly, Rickon couldn’t recognize it. He decided that it wasn’t important.

“Queen Selyse,” Davos said. He went to one knee.

Finally, Rickon looked up at the queen. She was a tall woman, even sitting down. Her ears appeared to be far too large for her, and she had a sharp nose and pale eyes. But the most prominent trait Rickon noticed was that she was frail, far too frail for someone didn’t appear to be old.

“Davos,” she said sharply.

Rickon looked past the woman and realized that she was not alone in the room. There was another girl in the room. A woman grown, Rickon corrected himself. Nonetheless, she appeared so small and shrunk back that she seemed much younger. She was quite ordinary, from what Rickon could see. She had a square jaw, slightly large ears, and dark hair. Her dark hair fell in front of her face, hiding most of her from view.

“May I present to you the lost Lord Stark?” Davos said, looking pointedly at Rickon. The was an undertone of warning in his voice.

Rickon turned back to Davos before looking at the queen again. They wanted him to kneel before her, but he resolved to stay on his two feet. He wasn’t a kneeler, and he wasn’t going to betray himself now. The queen narrowed her eyes at Rickon, a look of disgust in her eyes.

“It would appear that you bring me a wildling, Ser Davos,” the queen said. “Or perhaps he forgets himself.”

Davos looked like he was about to respond, but Rickon beat him to it.

“He remembers himself just fine,” Rickon stated loudly. “But he is not a kneeler.”

Queen Selyse continued to glare at Rickon with growing levels of disgust. Rickon stared back. He wasn’t likely to lose this battle, and he definitely wasn’t going to kneel for a queen he could kill without any effort. The queen turned to her daughter, and Rickon followed her gaze. The girl glanced over to him quickly before turning back to her mother.

“Shireen, please pour our guests some wine,” she said in what Rickon assumed was supposed to be a gentle tone.

The girl nodded quickly, getting up and turning to mess with a skin of wine and some cups. There was quite a bit of clinking and noise before Rickon heard any liquid pouring. She approached Davos first, smiling and mouthing something at him. Rickon was surprised when Davos greeted her warmly, going so far as to give her a hug. The queen was frowning from her seat, and Davos brushed Shireen’s hair behind her ear. Then, Shireen went up to Rickon, staring determinedly at his feet and holding the cup out quite a distance away. Rickon noticed a patch of grey on half of her left cheek. He cocked his head to the side to investigate, reaching out for the cup blindly. The instant Rickon’s fingers hit the cup, Shireen released it, having expected Rickon to have a hold on it.

Rickon diverted his attention at once, focusing on the cup and catching it before it fell. He caught it shakily, smiling at himself for having good reflexes. A moment later, Shireen’s hand went up to support the cup, leaning slightly against his.

“I got it,” Rickon said.

Shireen looked up. Her eyes were much brighter up close, but Rickon was distracted by the mottled skin of her left cheek. It was grey and black in some places, cracking and flaking. He noticed Shireen looking away quickly before she rushed off behind her mother.

Davos and Selyse began to talk of the war and matters of the realm, and Rickon made no effort to pay no attention to it. He occasionally looked back at the conversation whenever they said ‘Stark,’ but he quickly ignored them, busying himself with looking around the room. It was quite bare aside from a few decorations, and there was a massive pile of furs on the bed. Shireen had buried herself under one and was currently reading a book. Rickon began staring at the greyscale on her face, remembering what some of the free folk said about it. It was deadly and easily spread its affliction, taking many with it. The girl seemed fine, though.

Shireen glanced up from her book, and Rickon quickly looked away. He studied the ceiling and took a heavy gulp of the wine. The alcohol hit him quickly. He remembered his empty stomach and began thinking about his dinner downstairs. Sometime during his daydream about meat, Davos hit his arm, gesturing to the door. Rickon quickly swallowed the remainder of his wine, knowing that he would eat soon. He placed the cup on the nearest surface and went out the door, Davos right behind him.

Outside, Rickon noticed that the Queen’s guard was now missing. Maybe they thought that their sleep was more important than protecting the queen from potential rapists and murderers. Rickon paid it no mind, trying to hurry to his dinner. Davos, however, pulled him back away.

“You need to pay the Queen your respect,” he said.

Rickon easily pulled out of the grip. “Some old woman will never rule over me,” he replied. “And I will never be a kneeler.”

Davos looked ready to fight Rickon on the subject, but the door to the Queen’s chambers opened behind them. Shireen exited the room quickly running up to Davos and throwing her arms around him in a hug. Rickon used the distraction to try and slip out of the tower. He didn’t want to get involved with the Baratheons. He wasn’t even sure why he was here anymore. 

Halfway out the door, he found a woman blocking his way. She was dressed in all white, with honey-colored hair and sharp cheekbones. She was looking at Rickon expectantly, searching his eyes for something.

“You are of the north,” she said simply.

“As are you,” Rickon said. He was still half-wedged in the doorway, contemplating his escape from this woman.

“You’ve seen the southern princess, then?” she asked.

Rickon though back to the girl with the mottled left cheek, and he nodded slowly.

“The girl is a monster,” the woman said simply. “She is not clean, and she should be killed.”

Steeling himself, Rickon stepped fully onto the walkway. He spared a quick glance inside to Shireen and Davos before closing the door. Then, he turned back to regard the woman. She was very obviously a wildling with this way of thinking.

“No,” Rickon said, staring at the woman.

“You would have everyone else dead for a girl with such an affliction?” the woman asked.

Rickon scoffed. “She’s definitely a woman grown,” he said. “From what I know, greyscale tends to kill babes. If anything, she has survived.”

The woman looked taken aback. “You know nothing of the north.”

“I’m king in the north,” Rickon said, enjoying the way the title sounded on his tongue. “Show some respect.”

The woman smiled. “And I am a wilding princess,” she replied. “Val. Perhaps, they will have us wed, and I can ask for her head as a wedding gift.”

“Wildlings have no royalty,” Rickon said. “Free folk are not kneelers.”

There was a small pause as Val studied Rickon, looking for a slip up in his demeanor. He could tell that she was used to getting her way. Rickon heard the distant sound of footsteps approaching the door, and he took a step toward the woman.

“You will leave the southerners alone,” Rickon said. “They’ll be gone shortly anyhow.”

A wicked smile crossed Val’s face, as she leaned in to Rickon. “Most like of death,” she said. Then, she turned away, leaving to her tower.

Rickon left to the common hall, serving himself a small portion of food. He sat alone at one of the tables, as the men of the Night’s Watch were already finished eating. Quickly, he ate through the meal, enjoying it as much as he could. He let his thoughts wander slightly, thinking about the wildling woman Val, and how she must have tried to sway others to kill the girl Shireen. He half-thought the queen’s guard themselves would do it, but perhaps they were more frightened of the queen.

After he finished his meal, he went out into courtyard to find his direwolf. Shaggydog was rolling in the snow, play-fighting with Ghost. The direwolves stopped at Rickon’s approach, looking at him intently. Rickon suspected that Ghost was doing so out of habit, used to the training and discipline. Shaggydog, however, was sniffing at Rickon’s feet, moving up to his hand and eagerly finding the scents on it. Rickon moved his hand into Shaggydog’s fur for the sole purpose of annoying the wolf, and Shaggydog snapped at him lightly before going back to smelling his hand. Rickon rolled his eyes at the dog.

From behind him, Rickon heard snow crunching. He turned quickly. The sun was past set. Anyone out so late would definitely be searching him out. Davos came up to him, trudging through the snow as more began to fall.

“I leave at first light,” Davos said simply. “Queen Selyse has requested that her guard accompany me. The Lord Commander has prepared a room for you, just across the way from the Queen’s tower.”

Rickon nodded his assent, glancing over to Shaggydog. His direwolf was slowly approaching Davos, looking confused by his scents. Davos had grown only slightly accustomed to the direwolf, and he still looked uneasy as the wolf searched through his scent.

“The girl will be left alone,” Rickon said.

Davos gave him a confused look. “Princess Shireen? She has her mother.”

Rickon shook his head. “You know as well as I, Davos,” he said. “Her mother is dying. She is frailer than an old maid. The north has not been kind to her. She will not last the month.”

“The Queen is stronger than you think, Lord Stark,” Davos said. “She can and will survive to see the Iron Throne.”

As much as Rickon didn’t believe Davos, he let the conversation go. He knew that the queen would be leaving them shortly. He had seen enough death on Skagos to know that when people were dying, when people lost the will to live, there was no recovery. Davos seemed to think otherwise, and Rickon left him to his fantasies. He wondered briefly what would happen to the girl Shireen. The guard would be gone in the morning. Her mother would die soon. Shireen would be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's even a good length for these chapters? I dunno... But we're building up to some action!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon is forced into life at Castle Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I made a tumblr for this in case anyone wants me to post updates there, ask questions, or suggests prompts.  
> http://frozensnares.tumblr.com/

Adjusting to life at Castle Black was difficult for Rickon. He was accustomed to the lazy life he led back on Skagos: hunting when he wanted, running off to explore, swimming in the ocean, finding new ways to fashion weapons from his surroundings. Suddenly being thrown into the scheduled life of Castle Black completely threw Rickon off. The men of the Night’s Watch left him alone for a few days, most likely trying to let him adjust. Few people acknowledged him once they realized that Shaggydog wasn’t as gentle as Ghost, and Rickon let himself fall into the distance he had from other people. As Rickon spent more time out of his rooms, he spent more time with the direwolves.

Jon Snow, however, had other ideas for his youngest half-brother, and one day he went to join Rickon for breakfast.

“Snow,” Rickon greeted briefly, stabbing a fork into his meal. He wasn’t intentionally trying to avoid Jon, but he simply didn’t feel familiar. Rickon didn't know how to respond to him.

“Rickon,” Jon replied warmly, taking the seat opposite him. “You spend all your time here alone. You should join the men – train with them.”

Rickon raised his eyebrows at the Lord Commander. “You want me to join the Night’s Watch?”

“Not join,” Jon said. “Train. You came here with a dagger and a bow. Do you fight? Can you command an army? Have you a sword? Do you ride?”

“I hunt,” Rickon said simply. “There is a sword with my things. I do not use it anymore. It is not mine.”

Jon looked confused. “Then why do you have it?”

Shifting in his seat, Rickon met Jon’s eyes. “I took it,” Rickon said. “From the crypts of Winterfell. I mean to return it.”

They fell into silence for a minute. Rickon saw Jon’s hand grip tightly on the hilt on his sword for an instant. When Jon spoke again, he did so with a sigh. “I will provide you a sword. You will wake early and train with the men. Leathers will instruct you. You must learn how to be a lord if you are to hold Winterfell.”

“I do not want Winterfell.”

Jon held up a hand. “Regardless, it must be held. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

With that, Jon left the hall, leaving Rickon no time to protest the decision. Rickon finished his meal quickly and thought on how he would spend his last day of freedom. He eventually settled on getting to learn the layout of Castle Black better, exploring its many passageways and rooms.

He watched the men finish their training in the courtyard first, and then he set off to explore. Shaggydog found him soon after, following him around the castle. Rickon paid Shaggydog no mind, as he was used to the presence of his direwolf. Shaggydog was simply there, free to leave and roam as he pleased. Rickon went to see the giant that guarded a tower, marveling at how such a creature could exist. It briefly occurred to him that people must see Shaggydog this way.

Approaching the giant as carefully as possible, Rickon pulled Shaggydog back from going to greet the creature. He trusted his direwolf to stay safe, but he wasn’t going to risk it when there was a giant involved. Near the giant was a massive boar, larger than any Rickon had seen before. He thought on how many people it would feed.

“You’d to well to leave that one alone,” someone said from behind him.

Rickon turned to find Leathers standing behind him. Leathers had his eyes on Shaggydog, and the dog slowly moved to Rickon’s side. “Why have a boar if not for food?” Rickon asked.

Leathers chuckled. “He belongs to Borroq – a skinchanger.”

“Borroq becomes the boar?” Rickon asked, thinking on his experience and closeness to Shaggydog.

“Aye,” Leathers nodded. “He can enter the mind of the boar, as skinchangers do.”

Carefully, Rickon reached his mind out to Shaggydog, letting the senses of the dog become his own. He didn’t enter the direwolf entirely; just enough to find the scents Shaggydog was trying to seek out. Rickon settled back into his own mind, and looked back at Leathers.

“I train with you tomorrow,” Rickon said, placing a hand in Shaggydog’s coat. “Lord Snow wishes I train to use a sword.”

“For combat, no doubt,” Leathers said, crossing his arms. “What weapon do you use?”

Rickon pulled the dagger from his belt, and flexed his foot to make sure his knife was still in his boot. 

Leathers examined the dagger briefly before dismissing it. “You’ll be needing a sword.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and protest, Rickon simply put the dagger away. He knew how to use his dagger, and if he ever failed he had Shaggydog to protect his back. He didn’t need a sword. “I’ll train,” Rickon said. “I can learn.”

“You’ll need to,” Leathers said. “Or you’ll have more injuries than you can handle.”

\--

Leathers had been right. Training was hard work. Rickon had a small amount of muscle on his bones from his time on Skagos, but he was grossly unskilled. More often than not he was disarmed in the first few seconds, and the men had to reset just so he could keep the sword in his hand. Still, he practiced in their armor and with their weapons. However, nothing seemed to be working for him.

Listening to Leathers and actually taking his instruction was difficult for Rickon to get used to. He was such a solitary creature on Skagos, always by himself, always shying away from others. Taking command didn’t fit in very well with his nature. Frustrated, he would sporadically leave his training sessions only to be found some hours later by Ghost and Jon was always close behind, trying to make Rickon see why he needed to know this.

Eventually, Rickon asked Leathers for additional help, trying to improve faster and without so many mistakes. The man almost always agreed, seeming to enjoy his time pounding on the young boy. Rickon, though, was brutal. He experimented relentlessly, trying anything he could to get a hit in. Oftentimes, the hit would cost him, as he left himself open to attack that way. It took two weeks before he started to improve significantly, finally being able to hold his sword through the entire time sparring. The week after, he made a man yield for the first time, and he tried not to care about it.

As Rickon improved in his sword training, he started to notice other things about lessons. Mostly, he was annoyed that he was always bogged down in clothes and armor. He always wanted Shaggydog near him while he trained, it felt better for him – easier even – when he could reach out for Shaggydog’s superior senses. He once asked Leathers about bringing Shaggydog to his training, but the older man adamantly refused. He said that having the direwolf around would make the other recruits too nervous to train properly.

One day, he noticed that his training was being spectated by more people than usual. The wildling Val was watching him intently, as if assessing his skill. Rickon remembered her command to have Shireen murdered and felt anger rising in him. Even though he was now being trained to kill, he didn’t want to hurt anyone unnecessarily like this wildling believed. Rickon flew back into the training, powering over the other men until they yielded to him.

“Aye, good work, boy,” Leathers called to him. Rickon was already ripping off his armor. “Yer not done yet.”

“Yes, I am,” Rickon replied, messing with the last few straps that held him in. When he finished, he looked briefly to Leathers. The old man watched him steadily before taking a sudden swing at him.

Rickon was fast to put up his guard, but not fast enough for a man of such skill. Leathers didn’t slow, though. He meant to prove a point. Responding to the fight, Rickon pressed back, trying to regain his footing and equal position in the fight. When he finally felt like he was back in it, he glanced down to check his surroundings – he still wasn’t used to the flat land over here. Leathers caught the opportunity and swiped at him. Rickon lamely raised his sword to defend against the strike, but the blade clattered to the floor. Leathers leaned back slightly, waiting for his surrender, but Rickon refused to let the man win. He pulled out his dagger.

Laughter rang across the yard. Everyone was watching, Rickon thought wildly of all the ways to use his dagger to his advantage. He quickly tore off his second layer of clothes.

Leathers immediately stopped his laughter. “You’ll freeze boy.”

Rickon narrowed his eyes further at the man, challenging him. Hesitantly, Leathers resumed his stance. The yard fell to complete silence.

They stood completely still for a moment. Rickon quickly thought through his advantages: his size, his speed, his age, closer attacking distance, greater maneuverability, faster reaction times, easier feints, and Shaggydog. He disregarded Shaggydog immediately, if he was going to win this, he would do it on his own. Tightening his grip on the dagger, Rickon flexed his foot to make sure he could get to his knife if need be.

The two moved at once, clashing their blades together. Rickon quickly pressed the man, trying to get in close. Leathers knew the move, though, and he quickly adjusted his strikes to force Rickon back. Their fight pressed on, Rickon’s short blade only striking when there were obvious openings as he relied on his speed to keep himself from harm’s way.

A few times, Leathers got close to striking Rickon. The first time it happened, Rickon felt the rush of air around the blade. Leathers meant to teach him the hard way. Since that attack, Rickon took care not to be hit. Small nicks appeared in his clothing, but none pierced his skin. Although Rickon did not want to hurt the man, he needed to prove that he could work alone when he needed to. He was self-sufficient, and he would show them that.

Rickon quickly moved into close-quarters against Leathers, using the slippery shards of ice to his advantage. He hooked his foot around Leathers’s boot and pulled him down into the snow. Leathers swiped his sword up at Rickon, and Rickon quickly deflected the blow with his dagger. His blade went flying. Without anytime to grab the knife from his boot, he kicked at the hilt of the sword and it fell into the snow.

“A tie, boy,” Leathers said from the ground, moving to push Rickon off of him.

Rickon’s hand flew to his boot, pulling out the knife. Brandishing it quickly, he pointed the tip of the blade at the man’s exposed throat. Leathers huffed out a breath under Rickon’s weight.

“I yield,” he said, smiling nonetheless. Rickon climbed off of Leathers, holding out a hand to help him up. He went to go retrieve his dagger from the snow, and Leathers called to him, “How many blades do you keep?”

“Three,” Rickon said. He bent down to show that there was another knife in his other boot.

Leathers began laughing. “You had me beat before the match began,” he said. “I expect a fair fight from now on.”

“Why?” Rickon asked. “Do you expect the Others to fight fair?”

“A good point, boy,” the man conceded. “But when we train, we train on equal grounds.”

Rickon simply shrugged and walked off. He went back to his room and cleaned off briefly, dressing in clean clothes. The ones he had worn would have to be mended. He rested on his bed for a while, thinking through the fight. Rickon tried to remember all the moves, find more openings, and learn what he’d have to do to keep winning his battles. It wouldn’t be too hard, but he wasn’t used to combat. Sure, the Magnars of Kingshouse were known to be vicious and wild on Skagos, but they also offered him hospitality and kept him protected. He never had a need to fight before. He had to hunt – to survive.

Shaggydog entered the room then. Over the past few weeks, the direwolf had learned to close the door with his snout after entering. The direwolf did so now before joining Rickon on the bed. Rickon absently moved his hand between Shaggydog’s ears. If he thought too hard about it, he could almost feel his own touch on his head. It was a bit disorienting, but he had become used to feeling his wolf. Shaggydog moved his snout onto Rickon’s stomach, seeking out his other hand. Rickon wasn’t entirely sure why, but Shaggydog had taken quite a liking to the scent his hand had somehow picked up. What had he even touched recently?

Something else was also beginning to nag at Rickon, and he hoped to rectify it soon. He left his room, hastily throwing a cloak over his shoulders. On his way to see Jon Snow, he felt someone’s eyes on his back. He turned, seeking out the offending person. Val was leaning out her window, grinning at him. Rickon rolled his eyes and sought to continue on his way when someone else caught his eye. It was Queen Selyse Baratheon, leaning against the frame of her window, staring at him with a hard look in her eye. She seemed to be frowning, as if he was some meddlesome bit of dirt that had stuck to the hem of her dress. 

Rickon let the feeling pass and continued on his way. Shaggydog made his way in front of Rickon, blocking his path. Pushing the head of the direwolf away, he tried to step around Shaggydog, but the wolf continued to block Rickon. Shaggydog went down in front of Rickon, proving to be a great obstacle for his owner. Stepping over the direwolf, Rickon let out a string of curses, hoping his wolf would get the idea. When he was finally over, he turned to aim a kick at Shaggydog, but he felt another presence watching him. Rickon looked around before looking up.

Shireen Baratheon was looking down at him, from the corner of the window where her mother had stood previously. She looked shy despite the distance between them, and her fingers were fidgeting on the windowsill. Rickon held her gaze and watched as she slowly shrunk back into the curtains. He dropped his eyes just slightly, and she slowly reappeared in the window. Rickon looked up slowly and was surprised to find that he could see the blue of her eyes from so far away. She seemed to give him a small smile before she jumped away from the window and closed the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Your comments make me happy. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon begins to learn his letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realized I hadn't posted this. Woops!

The view from the top of the Wall was incredible, even Rickon had to admit. Everything north of the Wall was entirely covered in snow. It seemed as if no other coloring was allowed save for the omnipresent white. There were moderate changes in terrain beyond the Wall – mostly trees and some hills. Far off into the distance, Rickon thought he could see a mountain range, but he couldn’t be sure. Staring into the white abyss of the North was disorienting, especially when the clouds were equally white.

Rickon turned slowly to look over the North of Westeros. It seemed just as empty as the land beyond the Wall. However, even at this distance, Rickon could tell that there was considerably less snow on the ground. There seemed to be one town relatively close to Castle Black, but the remainder of the land was abandoned.

“An impressive sight, no?” Jon asked.

Rickon jumped slightly, having forgotten that his half-brother was there. He swallowed slowly, looking around again. “I suppose,” Rickon said slowly. “I expected more.”

Jon breathed out a laugh. “More? Most men shake in fear of the expanse.”

“It’s so empty,” Rickon said. “Looks like you’re protecting a lot of snow from a lot of snow.”

“The Others blend in well with their surroundings,” Jon said. “We need to keep a sharp eye out to keep the seven kingdoms safe.”

Rickon stayed quiet.

“I was surprised you came to me so late with this request,” Jon went on. “Most men wish to ascend as soon as they arrive. You waited nearly a month.”

“I didn’t feel a need until recently,” Rickon said evasively. He shrugged slightly, looking around at the Wall itself. If anything, it was definitely built well. There was no danger of collapse, and it was fully armed for defense. Rickon ran a hand over one edge of the Wall, watching the snow fall until it blended in too well with the expanse of white around it. 

He let out a heavy sigh. Rickon had been hoping that he would be able to sense Bran from the Wall. He wanted a better indication of his brother’s survival. A part of him knew that he would know if Bran died or that Shaggydog would definitely feel it, but he wanted more reassurance. Slowly, Rickon wandered back to the lift.

Jon slowly followed him inside. “Have you considered my suggestion any further?”

“No.” Rickon looked away from Jon. “I do not care for words. I can talk. Why do I need to read and write?”

“As Lord of Winterfell, it will be part of your duties to send correspondences, arrange your bannermen, and ensure that the North is stable…”

“I do not wish to be Lord of Winterfell,” Rickon replied much too sharply. “Bran is to be Lord of Winterfell.”

Jon put a hand of Rickon’s shoulder. “Bran will need a Winterfell to return to,” he said softly. “You should hold it for him. As he did for Robb.”

Rickon tensed and tried not to pull away from Jon. He had been working on forming closer bonds with people, mostly the ordinary men of the Night’s Watch. Rickon was still undecided on family. “Bran will come back,” he said.

“He will,” Jon agreed, and he let the matter drop.

They rode the remainder of the way down in silence. Rickon tried to think through his position. He wanted to live comfortably, as he had on Skagos. The island was far away from him now, and his odds of returning without a proper ship and crew were slim. There were probably several lords searching for him, most likely wanting him dead or captured so he could do their bidding and allow them to rule the north. Then, there was the matter of his three missing siblings. They were all beyond his reach wherever they were now.

The lift slowed to a slightly jarring stop. Jon opened the gate and exited, moving to where the two direwolves were playing in the snow. Rickon hesitated just outside of the lift before continuing over to Shaggdog.

“Jon,” Rickon called.

Jon turned slowly. He seemed to be shocked that Rickon had actually said his name.

“I’ll do it,” Rickon said. “The reading lessons.”

“I won’t be teaching you,” Jon reminded him. “I have duties to the Watch.”

Rickon sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’ll still do it.”

“Make sure you keep Shaggydog away,” Jon warned. “You can’t be scaring off the princess.”

-

Rickon’s scheduled writing lessons were supposed to be immediately after his sword fighting lessons the next morning. He tried to put as much of himself into the lessons as possible, knowing that he probably wouldn’t have much patience for letters. As the sword fighting came to a close, Rickon lagged his preparation for writing. He managed to get to the room a full half hour late. He entered the room in the Queen’s tower quietly, hoping that his tutor would be gone.

“You’re late.”

Shireen Baratheon was sitting by a window, holding a large book in her hand. She hadn’t looked up from the book, and she showed no sign that she cared for his presence. In the center of the room was a table set up with a sheet of parchment and instruments he assumed were for writing.

He slowly went to the table, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Rickon looked over to Shireen pointedly. “I’m here.”

“I know,” she said. “You were also late, and if you can keep me waiting, then I can keep you waiting.” She turned a page in the book.

Rickon groaned, slouching down in his chair. He stuffed his hand in his pockets, leaning back and letting out a yawn. He began tapping his foot and kicking a leg of the table before Shireen finally came to sit across from him. She pulled a piece of parchment toward her and grabbed a feather.

“So what do you know?” she asked, dipping the feather in ink.

“Apparently, a feather is used to write.”

“It’s a quill,” she said.

“Yup,” Rickon agreed. He looked over to the quill and stretched across the table. “That’s about it.”

Her eyes went wide. Rickon watched a lock of her hair fall in front of her face, but she did nothing to move it away. He assumed that she used it to hide her greyscale. She shook her head slightly and began scratching the ink onto the paper. After a few scratches, she stopped and looked at him again.

“Can you hold a quill?” she asked.

Rickon was tempted the just grab the feather from her, but he stopped himself and settled on shaking his head.

Shireen pressed her lips into a line before turning the piece of parchment over. She drew a few simple shapes on the paper, tracing over them to form thick lines. Then, she stood up from her seat and moved behind Rickon placing the sheet in front of him. She reached across the table and grabbed the other quill. With an encouraging smile, she handed the quill to Rickon.

“Hold it the way I am,” she instructed, showing him her hand and twisting it around so Rickon could see it. Shireen slowly made a few strokes on the paper, and Rickon tried to copy. “Move your wrist as well as your fingertips,” she encouraged.

Rickon gripped the quill tightly, trying to make the movements. He felt Shireen shaking behind his shoulder. Curling his fingers around the quill, he ripped a line into the paper.

“You know what,” Rickon said loudly. He pushed out his chair and stood up. “I don’t really need to learn this.”

Shireen crossed her arms as he went to the door. “You’re giving up?” she asked.

Rickon froze. “I am not giving up. I just don’t care.”

He turned back to face her, and they were quiet for a while. Shireen walked the perimeter of the room slowly. “How will you send word to your men?” she asked.

“I can make someone do that for me.”

“What if they want you dead?” she asked. “What if they plot your murder, using the Stark seal to gain the trust of your bannermen? What if they try to overthrow you? How would you know?”

Rickon scoffed. “You think a bunch of letters will keep me safe?”

Shireen nodded. “I do,” she said. “They will also help you learn the history of your land and keep you from making the same mistakes as your ancestors.”

“Definitely not,” Rickon said, leaning against the door. “That’s not possible.”

Raising her eyebrows at him, Shireen crossed the room and grabbed her book again. She opened to the first page and read, “ ‘Aegon the Conqueror was the first king to sit on the Iron Throne after conquering the seven kingdoms. He married his two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys.’ “

“So I shouldn’t marry my sisters?”

Shireen placed the book down on the table. “You’re impossible.”

Rickon watched Shireen sit back down at the table and began to write absently with the quill. She drew small pictures of animals, flowers, and wrote a few words down. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders, brushing the table, and Rickon watched her hand make steady, careful movements with the quill.

“Still here?” Shireen asked, not pausing from the paper.

Shifting uncomfortably, Rickon made his way back over to the table and sat down. He picked up the other quill and tried to grip it properly. He held it out to Shireen. “Like this?”

Shireen glanced back up at him, looking at his hand. “Not quite,” she said gently. Giving him a soft smile, Shireen reached over and molded his fingers around the quill. She took care to slacken his grip and move his fingers lower down. Then, she helped him move his hands to form lines and curves, encouraging him to continue on his own.

They spent the next hour sitting in companionable silence, only speaking occasionally. Rickon filled that side of the parchment with scribbles, lines, and circles. Shireen was attempting to let him become comfortable with the utensil in hand.

“Rickon,” Shireen said slowly. “Do you know how to how to spell your name?”

Rickon paused, trying to think about it. Most people probably knew how to spell their names. He definitely knew his name, thanks to Osha, but he never thought about how to spell it. Then again, he didn’t even know his letters. “No,” he said. “Letters are… I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Shireen said, flipping the paper over. She gave him a small smile and started writing slowly. “R-I-C-K-O-N sounds right. And Stark… that one I know.”

She handed him a paper with his name spelled out across the top. Rickon counted four words across the top, even though he was pretty sure there should only be two. “Why are there four?” he asked.

“The first one is in capital letters,” Shireen said. “The second without. The first letter of your names should always be capitalized, but –”

“You know what,” Rickon interrupted. “I don’t need to know. I just copy them, right?”

Shireen nodded in response, so Rickon set to writing and re-writing his names multiple times. Once he started to get the feeling for how the letters worked, he began mixing the letters around, messing with the capitals. Soon, he filled the entire page with scratches of ink, only vaguely aware that they spelled out his name.

“One more time,” Shireen said, “before you’re out of space.” She took the parchment from him and spelled out his name in small letters with the proper capitalizations. Then, she handed the paper back to him, and he proceeded to spell out his name one time, perfectly. Shireen smiled at him. “Almost like a real lord.”

“Not gonna be a real lord,” Rickon said, leaning back in his seat. “Almost is good enough.”

Shireen let out a laugh and circled his name at the bottom of the paper. Just then, the door to the room swung open to reveal Jon Snow and two men of the Night’s Watch. Jon was visibly worried as he entered the room. He slowly approached the table. Shireen was unfazed by his demeanor, and she grabbed the paper and held it out for Jon to see.

“He managed to spell out his name today,” Shireen said, smiling. “Tomorrow we can work on the rest of the alphabet.”

Jon gently placed the paper on the table, not sparing it a glance. “Princess,” he said gently. “I have some bad news to deliver, I’m afraid.”

Rickon watched as Shireen slowly tensed, sitting up straighter in her chair. She bowed her head slightly and clasped her hands together. “My mother,” she muttered. She let out a slow sigh before standing up. “Excuse me, Lord Commander.”

Shireen Baratheon walked with surprising calm as she left the room and crossed the hallway to her mother’s chambers. Rickon stayed seated in his chair while the men of the Night’s Watch waited for Jon to leave.

“You did well, Rickon,” Jon said. “Expect no lessons for a few days. Shireen will need time to mourn.” 

As Jon left the room, Rickon heard one of the men whisper to himself about how frightening Shireen’s greyscale was. Rickon shot him a glare that caused the man to stagger back a few paces. Shoving past the men, Rickon followed Jon to the Queen’s chamber. He waited by the door, watching as Jon placed an arm around Shireen’s shoulders. She made no move to recognize his actions, simply nodding occasionally to whatever Jon was saying. 

After a minute, Rickon left the tower. He made sure to shoot another deadly glare at the man who spoke of Shireen’s greyscale. Outside, snow was lightly falling and the sun was just beginning to set. A few men were out in the far end of the yard of Castle Black, piling logs and as much wood as they could into a pyre. From the amount of wood gathered, Rickon assumed they were making a pyre large enough to show respect to a Queen of Westeros.

Rickon crossed the yard, searching for Shaggydog. He located his direwolf outside of Hardin’s Tower, where Val’s rooms were. The direwolf was in a stand-off with the giant Wun Wun, as had become their routine. Shaggydog was growling at the giant, working a semicircle into the snow as he looked for an opening to pounce on the giant.

Once Rickon was about twenty yards away, Shaggydog stopped his movements and ran over to Rickon’s side. The direwolf immediately began smelling at Rickon, inspecting his feet and hands thoroughly.

“Like the scent of letters?” Rickon asked, teasing his hands out of reach.

Shaggydog jumped up, placing his paws on Rickon’s shoulders and knocking him down completely. Rickon laughed, rolling in the snow with his direwolf. Once Shaggydog had gotten his fill of smelling his owner, Rickon stood to brush the snow off his clothes.

“Funeral tonight,” Rickon said. 

Just as Rickon had predicted, less than a month after his arrival, Queen Selyse Baratheon had died. Her funeral pyre, as expected for a queen, was massive and spectacular. The rites were done according to her beliefs of the Red God to the furthest extent that the men of the Night’s Watch could manage.

Rickon watched the fire shoot up into the sky as the sun set. He stared into the flames as long as he dared, before turning to examine the company of people around. Most of the Night’s Watch looked on with little care, waiting for a chance to be dismissed. Jon Snow stood near Shireen, standing stoically in position. Finally, Rickon looked to Shireen.

Shireen Baratheon stood proud and tall as the flames burned into the sky. She never once looked away, and, as long as Rickon watched her, he never once saw her shed a tear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon learns his letters.

Sword fighting lessons went on longer than usual the next day. Rickon went at it with the recruits of the Night’s Watch for hours before Leathers finally let up and released them for their daily work. Holding out a hand, Rickon helped his sparring partner out of the snow.

“Good job, Stark,” the boy mumbled.

Rickon grunted in reply. He hadn’t even bothered to learn the boy’s name. Regardless, he had been a good sparring partner. Rickon’s shoulder was going to be aching all day. He might even have to lie in the snow for a while to let it heal properly. Rubbing at the shoulder in question, Rickon began removing his armor as he headed in to put everything away. All in all, he was glad that the lesson had gone on for so long – after all, he didn’t have anything else to do today.

Slowly, Rickon made his way back to his rooms by way of the Queen’s Tower. To his great surprise, Shaggydog was laying down outside the door.

“Shaggy!” Rickon called. “Get over here.”

The direwolf promptly ignored him. Instead, he sniffed carefully at the doorway and placed his head on his paws, looking dejected. Rickon slowly walked over and pulled at the scruff of Shaggydog’s neck, trying to move him away.

“You can’t be here,” Rickon said. “You scare people. Go play with the giant or something.”

Shaggydog snapped lightly at Rickon, causing Rickon to jump back slightly. He hit the direwolf on the head, but the direwolf was too preoccupied staring at the door again. Rickon sat down behind Shaggydog and dug his feet under the wolf, trying to make him move. After ten minutes trying to move Shaggydog, Rickon gave up. He slumped back against wall behind him, throwing his head back against the wood. It made an audible noise, and Rickon wondered briefly if he should also stick his head in the snow.

From the corner of his eye, Rickon spotted the other legendary beast living on the wall. Ghost was approaching them, silent as he always was. The direwolf slowly approached them and sniffed cautiously at his brother. Shaggydog snapped at Ghost, but the other direwolf was already moving in semicircles around him. Ghost wanted to play.

Rickon hid his grin. He knew that Shaggydog had far too much pent up energy to pass up an opportunity to play with another direwolf. It only took two more minutes until Shaggydog bounded after Ghost, but not without another look at Rickon. Shaking his head in slight disbelief, Rickon wondered when Shaggydog became so particular about his placement and behavior around others.

Getting to his feet, Rickon dusted himself of extra snow and dirt. He carefully regarded the tower. Shireen was probably alone in there. Mourning, according to Jon Snow. Still, he didn’t think it safe for her to be alone, especially given how Val wanted her dead. Rickon tentatively opened the door to the tower, telling himself that he was just going to make sure everything was normal. He made his steps as quiet as possible and went down the hallway. Most of the doors were closed, and he didn’t see anyone in the open rooms. Relaxing slightly, Rickon made his way back to the entrance.

“You are late.”

Rickon jumped at the voice. He expected Shireen to be in one of the rooms that was closed. Not to mention that he didn’t expect to even be here today. He turned around slowly. “Um, was I supposed to come?” he asked.

“Why would you not?” Shireen asked. She was sitting by the window again, but she had dragged a chair over there today. In her hands, she had a large book. One of her fingers was shoved into the book, marking her place.

“Jon said not to,” Rickon explained. “Something about giving you time to mourn?” He slowly entered the room and pulled up the other chair. Maybe Shaggydog had been trying to get him to come here. Rickon dismissed the thought immediately. If Shaggydog had wanted him here, he shouldn’t have been blocking the door.

“I do not require time to mourn,” Shireen said, rather coldly. “It is done. Now, we should continue with the alphabet today. All twenty-six letters and their sounds.”

Rickon tried to understand what she was implying. He hadn’t exactly been one for mourning, but he thought that most people would have some sort of emotion regarding their mother’s death. Thinking of Osha, Rickon tried to decide if he would mourn her death. She was, after all, the closest thing to a mother that he had, but he honestly couldn’t figure out if he would grieve over it.

Shireen was looking at him expectantly, pushing a piece of parchment toward him. She began to write down the twenty-six letters she mentioned before. Again, there were two for each letter. Slowly, she went through the entire alphabet, naming each letter, telling him the sounds they made, and showing him the proper way to write them.

Blindly, Rickon followed what she was saying and doing whatever she asked of him. He was still trying to wrap his mind around grieving. When did people grieve? Was it only for certain people? Did he even have the emotions required for it?

He remembered when his dad died. Bran had been with him at the time, and together they had mourned for him. He also felt like he knew when Robb died, but he had been far away by then, focused entirely on survival. It wasn’t long after his dad died that he had isolated himself from others. Shaggydog had been his only comfort, and direwolves weren’t the best parents.

Rickon tried to remember his sisters. There were two. He knew that one of their direwolves was gone, and a part of him felt like he would know if they died. But would he mourn for them? Would he mourn for the sisters he never really knew? Or his mother that he only vaguely remembered?

Bran, he would mourn. Rickon knew that without a doubt. Bran had been with him through the sack of Winterfell, had led him into the crypts for their only chance of survival, and had helped him cope with their parting to ensure that Winterfell had a Stark to return there. Bran was the brother that Rickon knew. He was family that Rickon wanted back. He missed Bran.

“Are you alright?” Shireen asked suddenly.

Rickon was immediately pulled out of his thoughts. He stared down at the piece of paper. There were definitely letters written down there, but he wouldn’t be able to name any of them. He looked at the last letter he wrote. It was just a circle. “I spaced out,” Rickon said. “Thinking too much. What was this one called?”

“O,” Shireen said. She was giving him a strange look. “Are you sure—”

“What sound does it make?” Rickon asked, swallowing hard.

Shireen blinked. “Oh,” she said slowly. “Possibly ‘oo’ if there are two of them.”

Rickon nodded and copied down the next letter. “And this one?”

“Rickon,” Shireen prompted. “Stop. Tell me.”

Putting down the quill, Rickon slowly leaned back in his chair. He licked his lips slowly. “Why are you not mourning your mother?” he asked. That seemed like the best place to start. He didn’t even know how to articulate the other thoughts he was having.

Shireen gave him a small shrug. “There was no reason to,” Shireen said. “She had her beliefs, I had mine. She was never particularly kind to me how most mothers would be. I had a fool to keep me occupied so she didn’t have to tend to me. He died soon after we got to the Wall, along with my childhood. I waited on my mother, but she continued to show me no kindness, no love. There is no need to mourn something I didn’t lose.”

Rickon nodded slowly, wrapping his head around that. Maybe people mourned kindness? Or love? Did he even have that?

“That face again,” Shireen said. “What is it?”

A minute passed before Rickon answered. “I only remember Bran,” he said. “I know Jon now, but I don’t remember him. I was trying to figure out if I would mourn for my family.”

Shireen visibly softened. “Rickon.”

He glanced back up at her. Shireen’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. The water seemed to make the blue of her eyes swim. Rickon looked back at his hands twisting together on his lap. “It wasn’t important,” Rickon said quickly. “What was the next letter?”

“‘P,’” Shireen said softly. “Rickon, your family is not entirely gone. You have Jon now. And no one has heard of your sisters. Surely, they must be alive.”

Rickon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just don’t know how to feel about them.”

With that, Shireen dropped the conversation. She went back to telling him all the letters and their sounds. For the most part, Rickon drew one of the letters big and then small. There were only a few different ones. Once he finished the alphabet once, he started again. Shireen continued to help him, and he repeated the process until he didn’t need her help anymore. He went on and on, writing and re-writing the letters, saying their names to himself the entire time. Once he felt that he knew the information well enough, he tried to remember how to spell his name again. Slowly, he scratched it out on the bottom of the page, spelling it to himself.

“You remembered,” Shireen mumbled.

Rickon nodded, repeating his name on the paper. “Yup,” he said. “Should we keep going?”

Shireen shook her head slowly. “No, I think we should stop for today,” she said. Rickon made to get up from the table, but Shireen stopped him. “Rickon, you should know that mourning is not often a conscious decision. There are reasons, but it usually just happens, or it doesn’t.”

She looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for a response. When he didn’t say anything, she went on. “My mother did not care for me. As a daughter, I cannot pass on the Baratheon name or inherit my father’s position. She needed a son, and she could not provide that. I was born with this affliction. I should be dead. She chose not to care for me in life, and I have chosen not to care for her in death.”

Slowly, Rickon nodded. “My family left to fight the war,” Rickon said. “My father left earlier, but he was betrayed. My sisters went missing. Jon went to the Wall. Bran was lord of Winterfell. But Bran had to leave, too. He went beyond the Wall, and he sent me to Skagos. I don’t know them, any of them, except for Bran. I was feral. I looked to my direwolf for guidance. I bit someone. Still, I wasn’t alone. I had someone looking after me. We kept each other alive. And now I have to claim an inheritance I don’t want.”

“But it is yours,” Shireen said. “The Starks are the most honorable family in Westeros. You can do well there.”

“Honorable?” Rickon asked. “I was raised by a wildling. I bit someone. I know nothing of honor.”

Shireen slumped forward onto the table. “But you can do it. It is yours, and you can pass on the Stark name.”

“I’m a Stark in name only,” Rickon said. “I would need a family to change that.”

With that, Rickon finally got up from his seat and left the room. He was halfway to the exit when he turned back. To his surprise, Shireen was standing in the doorway, watching him. Rickon pulled the knife from his boot and handed it to her. She gently pushed it away from her.

“Val wants you dead,” Rickon said. “She is more like to strike without your mother here.”

Still, Shireen pushed the blade away. “I could not use it,” she said.

Tightening his grip on the blade, Rickon shoved the knife back into his boot. “That may have been my one honorable act, princess,” he said. “Better not have wasted it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the tardiness and the length! There were some family things to take care of this week. I'll try to make it up during the week/with a longer chapter next time.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon gets too heated and goes to blow some steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small trigger warning for the last few paragraphs. It has been marked with three asterisks (***) for your convenience.

For the next week, Rickon continued to attend writing lessons with Shireen. Every day after they finished, he would offer her a small blade, and every day she refused. Rickon thought she was being horribly stubborn about it, and that she should care more for her life. He knew that Val was after her, and he was fairly certain that the wildling was not to be trusted. One day, he decided to try a different tactic.

“Take the knife,” he said shortly. Rickon was early today. That alone might have been enough to throw her.

Shireen blinked at him. “No.”

Rickon sighed and slumped down in his chair. “There are people who are literally trying to kill you,” Rickon explained. “Here. At the Wall. I know because I was asked to kill you. If the wildling Val is willing to ask me for help, don’t you think she’d be willing to open her legs for a man who’d be willing?”

Leaning away from Rickon, Shireen set her book down on the table. “I will not fight their violence with more violence.”

“So you’d rather just be dead?” Rickon asked. “Because that’s what’ll happen.”

“I’m not taking your knife,” Shireen said. “Now, are you ready to read or are you just going to keep pestering me?”

“Pestering?”

“Bothering.”

“I can’t read yet,” Rickon countered.

“Which is why you need to start trying,” Shireen said. “You know the alphabet just fine. Most of your sounds are right, but unless you can recognize and write words, it’s useless. Ready?”

Rickon shrugged, and Shireen moved her chair next to him. She placed the book between them and began to read slowly, pointing to each word as she said it. After she finished a sentence, she made Rickon read it back to her. It was a slow way to progress; especially with Rickon complaining that he’d never need to know how to spell “Targaryen” or that half the words he was reading were irrelevant anyway. It took nearly an hour to get through two pages of text, and Shireen was fed up with Rickon.

“You’ll learn an alphabet, but you don’t care for reading?” she asked.

Rickon scoffed in return. “All your book is about is the bloody south,” he said. “Even if I ever had plans to go down there, those aren’t words I’d want to know anyway. Not to mention that they’re boring as fuck.”

“Rickon!” Shireen scolded. “Watch your language!”

Rickon rolled his eyes. Of course she would be irked about swearing. He resolved to do it more often. “Fuck that,” Rickon said. “Who cares anyway?”

“I am a princess,” Shireen reminded him.

“My apologies, _princess_ ,” Rickon said with unnecessary emphasis. He also wasn’t entirely sure what being princess meant. He decided that it was a bad word, too. “I’ll just remove myself from your presence.”

Roughly shoving away from the table, Rickon stood up and rushed out of the room. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so pissed. It probably had something to do with being bottled up all the time and Shireen’s utter disregard for her life. He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much, but it was really getting to him. He needed to blow some steam. Entering his room, he found Shaggydog sitting on the bed, growling at him.

“Fuck off,” Rickon said to the direwolf.

Shaggydog barked at him.

Rickon ignored Shaggydog and changed back into his sword fighting clothes. His lessons were done for the day, but no one would care if he went down to practice more. Rickon quickly decided against using his sword and grabbed a bow instead. Out on the firing range at Castle Black, he quickly emptied his quiver into a practice dummy. Then, he retrieved his arrows and did it again. On the third round, he realized that he aim was getting worse. Rickon cautiously calmed himself and forced his aim to be a kill shot every time. He might have had no practice fighting men, but he knew how to kill one if need be.

Once Rickon had fully emptied his quiver for the sixth time, he allowed himself to fall back into the snow. Skagos may have been extremely lax compared to Castle Black, but he always managed to keep himself busy. He was constantly out hunting for food or making weapons and snares. He hadn’t had time to hole himself up and be isolated from the outside. Absently, he began to pile the snow on top of himself. Rickon hadn’t realized how sore his muscles were from his daily practices. Shooting as fast as he could probably didn’t help either.

Rickon stayed in the snow until the cold actually slowed his heartbeat down enough for him to think clearly. It was obviously way too warm inside Castle Black. The heat was probably contributing to his short temper. Rickon need to step back and refocus on the changes in his life.

Pulling himself out of the snow, Rickon quickly dusted off the bits that were stuck to him. He didn’t need the ice to melt into his clothes. He set off through Castle Black to find Jon Snow. Eventually, he found Jon having his lunch in the hall, conversing with a few men of the Night’s Watch. Rickon took a seat a table away and grabbed some food.

“No word from Stannis yet,” Jon was telling the men. “And nothing from the rest of the kingdom, either. Luckily, we haven’t had any other wildling attacks or seen any Others.”

“But we know they have armies,” one of the men said.

“Yes,” Jon replied. “Just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t coming. I’ll be sending word to Eastwatch and make sure our defenses spanning the entire length of the Wall will hold.”

The men surrounding Jon muttered their assent and left the hall one by one. When Jon was alone, Rickon took a seat across from him.

“Where’s the godswood?” Rickon asked immediately.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Jon replied. “How are your lessons going? I’m doing fine.”

“Jon, just tell me where the godswood is.”

Jon put down his cup and looked Rickon in the eyes. “I can’t let you go.”

“Why not?”

“It’s beyond the Wall,” Jon explained. “It’d be far too dangerous. You’d need a scouting party, archers for guards, dragonglass blades… You can’t.”

“You just said you haven’t seen anyone,” Rickon countered. “I’ll take Shaggy. I can manage myself. I’ll hunt while I’m out. You could use some fresh meat for once.”

“Rickon, I cannot let the sole heir to Winterfell be hurt by Others,” Jon said evenly.

Rickon bit his tongue before replying. “Bran is the heir to Winterfell,” he reminded Jon. “I will hold his seat and nothing more. I’ll do even less if you don’t let me go.”

The two entered a staring match that spanned the next minute. Jon took another drink from his cup before standing. “I have duties to attend to,” he said. Seeing Rickon’s protest he added, “I cannot have my men watching you, but you will be properly armed.”

-

Twenty minutes later, Rickon was at the gate to the land beyond the Wall with a dragonglass dagger in his belt. Jon had warned him to attack anything that didn’t seem human with it. Not entirely sure what he meant, Rickon vowed to attack first and ask questions later. He wasn’t one to hesitate anyway. With Shaggydog by his side, he went through the thick ice wall before emerging into the blinding white of the beyond the Wall.

Blinking away the brightness, Rickon steadily made his way toward the nearby wood. Shaggydog happily led the way, bounding in front of Rickon and crashing into several snowdrifts. Entering the tree line, the coloring of the world around him quickly changed. Everything was sliced through with browns. While Rickon could tell there had been green present previously, there was no sign of it now. He pressed on through the wood, relishing in the crisp, cold air that was unpolluted by men. After walking quite a distance, Rickon started to see the familiar hand-shaped leaves floating around him. He walked into a clearing and found himself surrounded by nine weirwoods. He looked to each of them in turn, seeing how each face was carved differently. 

Rickon sat down in the approximate center of the weirwoods, allowing Shaggydog to run through the woods around them. To his great surprise, Shaggydog was calm and simply circled the clearing before lying down in front of one. Shaking the hair out of his eyes, Rickon leaned onto his knees and stared up at the trees before him. He looked at each of them in turn, not entirely sure what one does before a weirwood. After a few minutes, Rickon stood up and walked up to the nearest tree. He let his hand run over the bark of the trees as he circled the clearing.

The last weirwood was the one where Shaggydog was seated, looking up at Rickon expectantly. Rickon pressed his hand against the wood briefly, before turning to Shaggydog.

“Ready to hunt?” he asked.

Shaggydog huffed out a breath and rolled through the snow, ignoring Rickon. Sighing, Rickon turned to the tree and pressed his forehead to the bark. He felt as if he had been literally shocked by the sensation and he stumbled back a few paces. Something about it felt familiar, though. Carefully, he moved back to the tree and pressed his forehead against the tree once more. This time, he was prepared for the sensation, and he felt it.

Bran.

Bran was in the trees somehow, seeing everything at once. Hastily, Rickon ripped off his gloves, pressing his palms flat against the bark of the weirwood. His brother was there. He knew that he could feel Bran. There was no doubt about it. He felt different somehow, but Bran was still his brother. Rickon would remember him anywhere. Swallowing hard, Rickon looked up to the tree.

“Trees don’t talk,” Rickon reminded himself. “But if you can hear me, Bran. Please, come home. Winterfell needs you. I need you. Don’t leave me.”

He could hear the desperation in his voice, and he pulled away slightly. He tried to collect himself, but Rickon could feel a calming, reassuring feeling coming from the tree. Without his knowledge, he felt tears spilling onto his cheeks. Rickon immediately withdrew his touch from the tree, not wanting his brother to see him in a moment of weakness. Taking a moment to collect his self, Rickon kicked some snow at Shaggydog.

“We’re going hunting now,” he declared. “Get up.”

This time, the direwolf took no time to obey. Shaggydog rose to his feet, automatically pressing his snout to the ground to search out a scent. Not thirty seconds later, Shaggydog ran off after a scent. Rickon stroked the tree one last time before pulling on his gloves and following the hunting pattern he and Shaggydog had established. 

Not long after, Rickon had an elk hanging from a tree, draining the blood out of it. Shaggydog had gone off in search of rabbit for himself while Rickon tended to the beast. He was trying to figure out the best way to remove the antlers when Shaggydog returned.

“Can you carry this thing with the antlers on?” Rickon asked. “Can’t really afford to lose materials right now.”

Shaggydog huffed at Rickon in response, going over to stand resolutely underneath the drained elk. Rickon lowered the elk onto Shaggydog’s back, making sure the antlers wouldn’t hit the direwolf’s legs while running. Then, Rickon carefully bound the carcass with the rope, and they made their way back to Castle Black.

Passing back through the tunnels, Rickon led Shaggydog to the kitchens first, releasing him from his burden. As soon as he could, the direwolf bounded away, most likely in search of play or some much-needed rest. Rickon could check in with the direwolf later, first, he had to amend his previous actions.

He wandered into the Queen’s Tower, wondering which of the rooms Shireen could possibly be staying in. Methodically, he knocked on each door and waited for a response. Near the end of the hallway, he heard her call for a moment before he heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. The door opened about two inches wide before Shireen noticed who is was. She opened it an inch more.

“Here to ask me to take your knife at night now?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I was actually going to apologize,” Rickon said. “It’s too warm over here, and I was getting far too heated. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Shireen said softly. “Okay then.”

“I’ll try to do better at cooling down tomorrow,” he said.

Shireen gave him a small nod but didn’t say anything. Rickon waited a moment longer before he turned around to exit the tower. It was as good a time as any to get ready for bed. In his room, Rickon ripped off his cloak and stripped down for the night. As he kicked off his boots, he put on a light shirt. Shaggydog wasn’t back yet, but Rickon wasn’t particularly concerned about his direwolf. Crashing onto his bed and not bothering with the furs, he fell asleep.

Rickon entered Shaggydog in his dreams, wondering what the direwolf was up to this night. Unsurprisingly, Shaggydog was messing with the giant and the boar. Rickon stayed in Shaggydog’s mind, seeing the world through his heightened senses. Soon, the direwolf was just wandering around Castle Black, smelling at the walkways. Rickon heard the faint sound of shattering glass, and Shaggydog took off running. As Shaggydog crashed into the door of the Queen’s Tower, Rickon jolted out of his sleep. Not bothering with his boots, he grabbed one of his daggers and ran out.

The door to the tower was opened, and Rickon could hear Shaggydog growling at the end of hallway. Rickon raced down the hallway, crashing his shoulder into the door. It gave a little, but something was blocking the way.  
***  
“Dammit,” Rickon hissed. He could hear signs of a struggle from within. “Shaggy!”

He moved out of the way as Shaggydog slammed into the door, knocking it off its hinges. Rickon rushed inside, glancing around quickly. It wasn’t hard to spot the man leaning over Shireen, pinning her to the bed. One of his hands was over her mouth, and the other was trying to grab a dagger that had fallen a foot out of his reach. Rickon quickly moved forward, lifting his dagger and slamming the hilt against the man’s head.

The man went limp, falling on top on Shireen. Immediately, Shaggydog grabbed the man’s leg and pulled him off Shireen. Rickon extended a hand to her, which she accepted, letting out a big sigh. Shaggydog walked up to the bed, sniffing at Shireen for any wounds. Once Shireen noticed the direwolf in her room, she jumped back.

“What is that?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and she looked visibly shaken.

“My direwolf,” Rickon answered. “He’s making sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.” Shireen pushed herself completely upright, massaging her wrists gently. Shaggydog sat down in front of her and rested his head on her lap. “What’s it doing?”

“Trying to get his scent off you,” Rickon said. He walked over to the window, seeing the splatter of broken glass on the floor. Shaggydog dragged the man through that; he would be visibly injured tomorrow. He noticed the bookcase that was skewed at an odd angle by the door before he noticed a matching one by the window. “A bookcase was your defense?”

“I’m fine,” Shireen repeated. Her hands were still rubbing at different parts of her body.

Rickon raised his eyebrows at her. “You sure you don’t want that knife?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is extra long and coming to you early to make up for my bad timing last week. And there's some new short fic up on my tumblr if you want to check those out. I haven't decided on crossposting or not... Also, I now have this entire story planned out! It's looking pretty long.... Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon teaches Shireen.

The next morning, Rickon staggered out late to his sword fighting lessons to the amused jeers of the men of the Night’s Watch. Still fatigued from the night before, Rickon tried his best to simply make it through the workout. Leathers had very different ideas. He forced Rickon to work just as hard as he had every other day and go through his exercises with the same skill and precision. Deciding against arguing with him, Rickon simply threw himself into the activities. He would tell Shireen they needed to reschedule his writing lessons later in the day.

“One more, Stark,” Leathers instructed.

Rickon had taken a knee in the snow, trying to get some semblance of rest. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and continue fighting. Still, he pulled himself to his feet. At Leathers’s signal, Rickon ran through the drill again, hoping that he was performing well enough and wouldn’t have to repeat it again. Before he allowed his self to fall into the snow again, he looked to Leathers. The man gave him a terse nod.

“Good,” he said. “Go put your equipment away.”

Pulling at the straps of his armor, Rickon turned around, intending to do as he was instructed. However, he saw Shireen Baratheon watching him from the walkway above the yard. More troubling was the wildling woman standing behind her. Rickon quickly ran up to Shireen and pulled her down to the yard with him. To his surprise, Shaggydog loped after them.

“What the f—” he caught himself and backtracked. “What are you doing out here?”

Shireen gently removed her arm from his grip and stood up straighter. “I was watching you practice,” she said simply. “I also thought you might want to read outside today.”

Slightly taken aback by her height, Rickon fixed his posture. He was adequately annoyed when he realized he was still two inches shorter than her. Putting the thought aside, Rickon quickly glanced back up to where Val was standing. She was watching them intently and Rickon could tell that she was pissed. He steadied himself with a deep breath and continued pulling off all his equipment. He needed to spend as much time watching Val as possible. “Yeah, maybe,” he said at last. “Just wait right here real fast.”

Shaggydog sat just beside Shireen. She gasped slightly as his weight leaned against her side, but she just looked at Rickon pointedly. Rickon quickly ran inside to put all his equipment away. He brushed off several questions and comments from the members of the Night’s Watch and went back outside. Shireen was in the exact same spot. She had a massive book on her arm that Rickon hadn’t noticed before. Her other hand was slowly stroking Shaggydog’s head.

“Um, he’s not…” Rickon wasn’t sure what to ask. He had never seen his direwolf so well-behaved before. Absently, he scratched at the back of his head. “He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?”

“The direwolf?” Shireen confirmed. “Not other than his rather miraculous existence. I thought they were extinct.”

Rickon shrugged. “My brothers found the litter when I was still really young,” he said. “I’ve always had Shaggydog.”

A wide smile grew on Shireen’s face. “Shaggydog?”

“Yes, Shaggydog,” Rickon said, mildly annoyed. Really, though, they shouldn’t have let him name a direwolf when he was so little. “I named him right after I got him.”

Rickon quickly turned in the direction of his room. He was still thinking of sleep. He glanced back to make sure Val was nowhere in sight, and then he proceeded to his quarters. Shireen was still following him, and Shaggydog was obediently at her side.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“I don’t remember,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly.

“How old are you now?”

Rickon paused mid-step. He scrunched up his face in concentration. “I’m not sure,” he said. “After Winterfell was sacked, I didn’t think to pay attention to my age.”

“Well, when’s your nameday?” Shireen asked.

“I don’t know,” Rickon admitted.

“Oh.” Shireen’s voice sounded small.

Rickon continued to his room, beginning to untie his jerkin. He entered his room, kicked off his boots and tossed his outer layer of clothes to the floor. Without thinking, he fell onto his bed.

“Do you want to read here today?”

Shireen had followed him. He pulled himself up, leaning his back against the wall. He couldn’t send her back now – Val was still hunting her, most likely. Rickon really wanted to sleep, though. He was exhausted from the previous night’s occurrences on top of his morning practice.

“Uh, sure,” he said. He moved over to make room for her on the bed.

Without hesitation, Shireen seated herself next to him. She placed the book on her lap and began to flip through the pages. “I’m sorry about the Targaryen history,” she said. “It was all I had readily available. I went to the library, though, and Jon helped me find some books about the North for you.”

Rickon nodded, not really paying attention to what she was saying. He rubbed at his eyes and slouched down further. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Sounds interesting.”

“I also need to thank you,” Shireen said, her voice almost a whisper. “For last night… I didn’t, and I should have. You didn’t have to come, but you saved me.”

Rickon snorted. “I definitely had to go,” he said. “Especially with Shaggy waking me up like he did — scared me half to death.”

Shireen was absently flicking at a corner of the page. “Well, thank you,” she said. “I really appreciated it.”

Taking in a slow breath, Rickon could feel the urge to sleep settling over him. “You still have that knife?” he asked.

Carefully, Shireen pulled it from her boot. “I didn’t know where to keep it,” she said, holding up the blade to him. “I’ll need to learn how to use it, though.”

Rickon was about to nod off, but he definitely needed to keep Shireen somewhere safe. The Night’s Watch definitely didn’t care enough to take care of her, and if Jon did, he certainly wasn’t acting on it. He picked at his brain for ideas. “Do you think you could just read to me today?” he asked, trying to stifle his yawn.

“Sure,” Shireen said. She flipped back to the beginning of the book. Rickon thought she was avoiding his gaze, but at this point that was just proving to be in his favor. Steadily, she began to read out loud. Within seconds, Rickon was asleep. He had been slumped down so much that Shireen hadn’t noticed him lose consciousness, and she kept reading.

Slipping into his direwolf, Rickon moved Shaggydog onto the bed, sitting over their legs. The added warmth lulled Rickon into a deeper sleep.

-

Rickon woke some time later to someone prodding his shoulder. He slowly blinked his eyes open and craned his neck up to look at Shireen. Rickon still felt like he was mostly asleep. One of his hands was lying across his stomach, and the other was underneath Shaggydog. Shireen poked him again, so he squeezed his eyes shut before looking up at her.

“Do you think you could get your direwolf off of me?” she asked.

Rickon looked over to them. Sure enough, Shaggydog was on top of Shireen’s legs, preventing her from moving. His head was resting near her hips. The direwolf also appeared to be asleep.

“Shaggy, get off,” Rickon said, sitting up to shove at him.

Shaggydog began to growl, and Shireen looked over to Rickon with worry in her eyes. Rickon groaned. He really didn’t want to warg into Shaggydog right now. Shireen would think he was crazy.

“Just tell him to move,” Rickon suggested. “He’ll probably listen to you.”

“Probably?”

“Call him Shaggy,” Rickon advised.

“Um.” Shireen gave Shaggydog a cautious look. “Shaggy, wake up. I need to move my legs.”

Rickon watched in mild disbelief as Shaggydog was roused from his sleep. The direwolf carefully regarded Shireen before climbing down from the bed. He curled into a circle on the floor, but Rickon noticed that he didn’t sleep again.

“He must like you,” Rickon said. “He doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Even you?” Shireen asked, sliding her legs off the bed.

“He rarely listens to me,” Rickon said, shrugging slightly. He stretched in his space on the bed. “I just let him do whatever he wants.”

Shireen nodded in agreement, but Rickon noticed that she didn’t move any closer to the direwolf than was necessary. She put the book down on the bed next to her.

“Have you been reading the whole time?” Rickon asked, reaching over to grab the book. It was heavier than he expected.

“Most of the time,” Shireen corrected. “I took a few breaks to pet the dire—um, Shaggy.”

“Well, you’re definitely something special,” Rickon said. “Shaggy doesn’t like to be treated like a pet.”

Suddenly, Rickon remembered a time on Skagos when one of the few girls in Kingshouse tried to prove to Rickon that she wasn’t afraid of Shaggydog. After her attempt at petting him, she needed several stitches, and Osha lectured Rickon on keeping Shaggydog away from people he would hurt. Rickon also recalled Osha brushing her fingertips against Shaggydog’s fur a few times, but she never actually tried to treat him like a pet.

“Do you want me to try reading now?” Rickon offered, trying to think through why Shaggydog was acting like a domesticated pet.

“Actually, I was hoping you could teach me how to use this.” She held up the knife.

“Oh, sure.” Rickon took the knife from her and unsheathed it. He ran a finger against the blade, making sure it was still sharp. Without thought, he flipped it into the air and caught it easily. “Basically, you just want to hurt someone with the blade.”

“I know that,” Shireen said. “How? And where?”

“Easiest is the neck,” Rickon said. He tapped the blade against his own. “Higher up is better, I think. If you get it deep enough, they definitely won’t survive. If you can’t get to the neck, then aim for the heart.”

Rickon held the blade toward Shireen, tracing the tip of the blade down to where her heart was. Shireen stiffened slightly, but she didn’t pull back from the blade. Shaggydog, however, began to growl loudly the closer Rickon got to the target. Rolling his eyes at Shaggydog, Rickon hit his own chest with the blade.

“Right here,” he said simply. Shireen was watching him with rapt attention. “If they’re wearing armor of something, you might have to stab through the side or under the ribs.”

Carefully, Rickon demonstrated how to get a knife into a man to kill him. He used his own body of as an example, pointing out where weaknesses in armor usually were and how to get a blade deep enough to ensure the kill. He sheathed the blade and held it out to her. “Show me where you’d kill someone,” he said.

Shireen hesitated. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said.

“But if you needed to,” Rickon insisted. “How would you?”

Slowly, Shireen held up the knife and used it to point out the weak points on her own body. Then, Rickon insisted she find them on him. As she went traced the blade over his weaker points, Rickon quickly grabbed at her wrist. Shaggydog barked at him.

“Shut up,” Rickon said to his dog. He carefully adjusted her hold on the blade. “Your grip is too weak, and you can’t go losing your weapon.”

“Right,” Shireen said, tightening her fist around the knife. She went on pointing out various ways she could potentially kill someone. When she finished, Rickon reminded her that she’d need to strike with quite a bit of force to do the damage necessary. Shireen swallowed hard at that before she asked, “Have you ever killed a man?”

Rickon shook his head. “No one’s ever attacked me like that,” he explained. “I was safe at Winterfell with others watching over me. On Skagos, everyone had so much respect for my father that they wouldn’t even dare. Not to mention that Osha probably would have—”

Rickon stopped talking immediately. No one knew about Osha. The few escapees of Winterfell, Ser Davos may have guessed, but he never spoke about her. There was something about how he had actually been raised by a wildling that he kept in his past. He didn’t tell anyone about her – not how protective she was of him, not how she took care of him, taught him survival skills, nothing.

“Who’s Osha?” Shireen asked. 

She wasn’t prying. She was just commenting on his odd behavior. Still, Rickon felt like closing off from her. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Forget I mentioned it.”

Rickon pulled on his boots quickly and left his room. He walked around Castle Black without purpose, trying to clear his mind. Rickon didn’t want to be thinking about anything right now. His past, his survival, his direwolf, his practice, his life—he just wanted to forget everything. What he really wanted was to go back to the godswood. He wanted to feel close to Bran again. He wanted a family he didn’t have to hide from people. 

On a whim, Rickon went to the gate that led to the land beyond the Wall. Unfortunately, it was fully manned at the moment.

“I want to get out,” Rickon said to one of the men standing there.

The man scoffed at him. “Not today, lad,” he said. “We’re running drills and we can’t have you messing with them.”

“Just let me out and you don’t have to worry about it,” Rickon insisted.

“And have the Lord Commander angry with me?” he asked. “I don’t think so.”

Rickon forced himself to turn away from the man and find some other outlet. He definitely wouldn’t be going beyond the Wall today. That much was certain. Rickon wandered down to find a meal instead. He needed more distractions. The illusion of safety was not one he was used to. Everything still felt dangerous to him. Perhaps there was something more to his feelings of danger. He started to tuck in to his meal when Val took a seat next to him.

“You’re spending time with that monster more often,” she said, picking at her nails.

“The only monster I’m spending time with is you — right now,” Rickon said. “You could also argue that my direwolf is a monster, but he might kill you for that.”

Val frowned at Rickon, obviously irked at his gall. “Then maybe I should ask your direwolf for assistance?”

“Good luck trying,” Rickon said. He made to stand up, but Val grabbed on to his arm.

She leaned forward, intentionally pushing her breasts out to him. “But I can offer you so much in return,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

“If you’re looking for someone to fuck, there are tons of men here who’ve just sworn it off,” Rickon reminded her.

Val pressed up against his arm. One of her hands dropped to his leg. “I was hoping for something in return.”

“Money?” Rickon suggested. “I didn’t realize you were a whore.”

Seething, Val pulled away and slapped him across the face. Rickon didn’t flinch from the hit. He stayed absolutely still. “I am a wildling princess, and I command you to assist me,” she said, then added, “for nothing in return.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rickon told her. “If you’re still holding onto that idea, you’re not even a free woman anymore. No wildling would ever respect you like that. You’re just a kneeler now.”

“What do you know of free folk?” Val snarled at him. She raised her hand again. This time, Rickon caught her wrist and twisted it back. She struggled against his grip, but he held tight.

“I’m still free to do as I please,” Rickon said. “And if you think I’d listen to you, then you’re even worse than a whore.”

He threw her hand down, making her check her balance. In the lull, Rickon got up from his seat, feeling infinitely angrier than he had been before. He stomped out into the snow and he felt his face begin to start stinging slightly. Scooping up a handful of snow, he pressed it against his face. Then, he went back to his room, hoping that he could ignore everything from that distance. 

When he got back, he found that Shireen was still there. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against Shaggydog and reading. She was so engrossed in the book that she hadn’t noticed when Rickon walked in. “Still here?” he asked.

Shireen jumped at his voice. “I was just—,” she started. “I mean, I wanted to keep reading. I don’t do much else here. There's nothing else to do. What happened to you?”

She was staring at the handful of snow he had pressed to his cheek. Rickon shrugged in response, kicking off his boots again. He sat down on his bed and leaned onto his knees. Carefully, he pulled the snow away from his face. It was still stinging. He pressed it back on with a bit more pressure.

“Rickon, what happened?” Shireen asked, getting up to sit next to him. She pulled his hand away and gently prodded around the wound. “Who hit you?”

Shaking his head, Rickon pulled away from her touch. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Let’s just… do that reading thing tomorrow, though.”

Shireen was looking at him with concern in her eyes. Rickon’s gaze went straight to her mottled left cheek. He briefly thought about the small amount of concern people showed her. They just skirted around her and cursed it from afar. Some went so far as to plot her death because of it.

Bowing her head slightly, Shireen moved her cheek out of his line of vision. She moved her hair out from behind her ear, allowing it to block her face from view. Rickon hadn’t meant to stare. He just didn’t know enough about her. She knew nothing about him, too. Maybe he could fix that.

“Are you sure?” Shireen asked.

Rickon tried to remember what he had said. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “We can deal with things then. Just… survive the night.”

Shireen looked slightly distraught at his suggestion, but she eventually got up from the bed. She crossed the room to retrieve the knife, tucked it firmly into her boot, and left. Rickon flopped down on his bed, pulling at the ends of his clothes to loosen them. He definitely needed more sleep. Shaggydog was still looking at the door.

“Go follow her, you lost puppy,” Rickon said. Shaggydog turned to him briefly before he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one was fun to write. And Rickon and Shireen are getting closer! Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon calls Rickon in for a talk.

Rickon was surprised that the next three weeks passed in relative calm. After the altercation against Shireen, Rickon had been prepared to return to her aid at Shaggydog’s call. However, there was no need for him to worry. He fell back into his routine. Every morning, he went to sword fighting lessons with Leathers, sometimes he would take a break and rest, but more often than not he would spend the rest of the day with Shireen. They would take turns reading books she found at Castle Black’s library, and they often read in different locations. If there was light out and it wasn’t snowing, they would sit outside. Rickon insisted that they change where they read every day, but Shireen suggested that they start to move inside for a proper writing surface.

The more time Rickon spent with Shireen, the easier he found it was to be around her. Once she realized that he answered most questions with “I don’t know,” she started to fill the lulls in conversation with details about her life. Rickon wasn’t keen on opening up about his life, but Shireen didn’t seem to mind.

“We never had any snow on Dragonstone. My father never wanted Dragonstone, though. He always said that as the eldest he should have Storm’s End. It’s the rightful seat of House Baratheon.”

“I thought he wanted to sit the Iron Throne,” Rickon interjected, looking up from his writing.

Shireen tapped the parchment in front of him, signaling that he should keep writing. Rickon started, but kept glancing up at Shireen. Rolling her eyes, Shireen responded, “Storm’s End would have been mine, I suppose. Unless my father had two sons, one to be heir to the Iron Throne and one for Storm’s End… But I’m his only heir, so I’ll be married and my husband will take seat on the Iron Throne.”

Rickon scoffed. “That’s horribly complicated,” he said. “Why don’t you just rule?”

“Women do not rule alone,” Shireen said. “Men would never listen to us.”

“Why not?” Rickon asked. He was horribly confused. Having been raised by Osha for so long, he always assumed women were rather more capable than men at numerous things. Certainly, they’d be able to rule just fine.

Shireen shook her head. “Men are heirs, Rickon,” she said simply. “That is why you rule Winterfell before your sisters are given the seat.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Rickon blurted out. “It would probably be easier to find one of them then to sail to Skagos to get me.”

“You’re already here,” Shireen pointed out.

“I am now,” he countered. “But Skagos was nice and relaxing.”

“Relaxing?”

“Yeah,” Rickon said. “After running for my life out here and thinking that everything was going to kill me, Skagos was really nice. No one tried to kill me. No one tried to control me. I only learned what I wanted to learn. I mellowed out a lot on Skagos.”

“Stopped biting people?” Shireen suggested.

“I haven’t bitten anyone in years.”

“That’s comforting.” Shireen looked over to Rickon who had stopped writing. He was looking up at her with his eyebrows raised. Shireen started giggling. She held a fist up to her mouth in attempt to stifle her giggles.

“That can change, you know,” Rickon threatened.

Shireen started laughing outright. She was trying to sneak looks at Rickon in between her short bursts of laughter. Rickon frowned at her, setting her off on another bout. He shook his head, returning to the parchment before him. Carefully, he tore off a small part of it and wrote “stop that” on it. Then, he slid the paper over to Shireen. She sobered up enough to grab the paper, but upon reading it she began laughing again, leaning onto the table for support.

Rickon chose to ignore her and continued writing. His penmanship was getting remarkably more legible since they started writing again. Shireen hadn’t asked him what a word said in the last two weeks. While Rickon wasn’t terribly pleased about being forced to write, he had become impartial toward it. There was nothing else for him to do at Castle Black. If he was going to be doing nothing, he’d rather spend the time somewhat productively.

Shireen wasn’t bad company either. She spoke about how bored she had been at Castle Black, reading most of the same books repeatedly. Apparently, she had been forced to read texts on R’hllor and the Lord of Light by her mother. Before Rickon had arrived at Castle Black, Shireen had been here with her mother and a red woman who were constantly trying to spread their faith. Shireen had been indifferent about the matter, but was forced into it anyway.

Looking at her now, he never would have guessed that her mother had been so horrible to her. She was still capable of carefree laughter and willingly spent time with him and his direwolf. Although, Shaggydog seemed much less wolf and much more dog in her presence. A knock sounded from behind him. Shireen stopped laughing. Rickon turned around as the door opened to two men of the Night’s Watch.

“The Lord Commander requests your presence, Stark,” one of them said.

“Yeah, okay,” Rickon said, standing slowly. 

Something about the men was off. They looked way too happy to be here. For him to be leaving. He raised a hand to his mouth and whistled through his fingers.

“Now, Stark,” the other man said.

From behind them, a loud growl came. Rickon smirked as the men skirted apart, allowing space for Shaggydog to walk in. Rickon raised a hand to tap him on the head. He stayed long enough to make sure Shaggydog went to Shireen’s side before leaving.

The walk to Jon Snow’s chambers wasn’t far. Rickon hadn’t paid much attention to how frequently he saw Jon at the Wall. He was only vaguely aware that it had been some time since he’d seen his half-brother. Then again, Jon had responsibilities here. He did not. Rickon knocked on the door once before letting himself in.

“Rickon,” Jon said. He was sitting at a large desk, writing up a letter. “How are you? Aren’t you cold?”

Rickon remembered that he wasn’t wearing a cloak. It hadn’t occurred to him to grab one. “I’m fine,” he said shortly. “What do you need me for?”

Jon stood. “I was just writing a letter to Stannis, asking how his battles are going.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Rickon asked.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with his daughter.”

Rickon laughed. “Are you seriously telling me this?”

“Rickon, you have to maintain your distance.”

“You’re the one who threw us together because I needed to learn how to read,” Rickon said. “You want me to stop now?”

“Haven’t you learned to write already?” Jon asked. “Surely, you’re good enough.”

“Oh yeah,” Rickon said calmly. “Let me show you.”

Rickon walked up to Jon’s desk, grabbed the quill from his hand, and scribbled “fuck off” on the parchment. He tossed the quill back on Jon’s desk and made for the door.

“Rickon!” Jon called.

“I’m not one of your men, Snow,” Rickon said, much sharper than he intended his voice to be. “You don’t command me.”

“I’m not trying to command you!” Jon shouted. “I’m just telling you not to mess with the princess!”

“I haven’t done anything to her,” Rickon argued, turning on Jon. “It’s your men that are attacking her in the middle of the night. It’s your men who want to kill her and get between the wildling’s legs. It’s your men who would do the same to your princess if Shaggydog didn’t pull them off her!”

Jon stared at Rickon with a blank expression. Slowly, it turned darker. “Rickon, what happened?”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Rickon told Jon about the events that happened a few weeks ago. He ended with, “I taught her how to use a knife. She’s been fine so far.”

“I should make an announcement about this,” Jon said. “I cannot tolerate this behavior from my men. They swore vows.”

“You’d do better to call no attention to it.” Rickon crossed his arms and leaned against the door. “Nothing’s happened in weeks, maybe she’ll give up.”

Jon shook his head. “She had the gall to ask me,” he said. He stood up suddenly. “The men I sent to get you—”

Rickon waved a hand dismissively. “Shaggydog’s with her.”

Jon’s eyes went wide, and he went to the door. “You mean the direwolf that caused more problems than any of the others combined?”

Jon rushed out, hurrying over to Rickon’s room. Following behind at a leisurely pace, Rickon reached the room a full minute behind Jon, who seemed to be frozen in the doorway. Pushing past him, Rickon saw Shireen asleep on his bed with Shaggydog curled next to her. One of her hands was buried in his fur. Rickon tried to step into the room, but Jon stopped him.

“You will heed my warning,” Jon demanded.

Rickon pushed Jon’s arm away. “I’m not going to fuck her, Jon,” he said. “This is my room, though.”

“Then, why is she sleeping here?” Jon hissed out.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Rickon suggested. He whistled lightly, stirring Shaggydog. 

The direwolf slowly got up, crossing the room and waking Shireen in the process. Shireen sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes. “You’re back,” she murmured. “You spelled a few words wrong. I marked them for you.”

Rickon went to the table and examined the corrections. “Why the hell would you spell ‘knight’ with a ‘g’?”

“It’s silent,” Shireen said, yawning. Seeing Jon, she added, “Hello, Lord Commander.”

“Princess,” Jon greeted. “I was just checking on Rickon’s lessons. I wasn’t expecting you to be…”

As Jon trailed off, he looked to Rickon for help. Rickon shrugged in response, going to re-write ‘knight’ a few times.

“I just fell asleep here,” Shireen said. “Shaggy wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Right,” Jon said tightly. “Rickon, could you come here, please?”

Without waiting for a response, Jon grabbed Rickon by the arm and pulled him outside. “She calls him Shaggy?” he said. His tone was accusatory. “Do you want to explain that?”

“Well, I named him when I was really young,” Rickon said. “I don’t know why you let me do that.”

“You got mad when we said you couldn’t,” Jon countered. He shook himself. “That’s not what I meant!”

Rickon huffed. “I’m not going to do anything to her,” he said. “I gave her a knife and taught her to kill. She could kill me just the same as any other attacker. Hell, she could probably set Shaggydog on me at this rate.”

Jon glared at Rickon before walking back inside. Rickon stayed in the doorway.

“Did he really give you a knife?” Jon asked.

“Oh, should I not have one?” Shireen asked. She pulled the knife from her boot. “I can give it back.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jon said, shaking his head. “How did he show you to use it?”

“Oh… um…” Shireen looked to Rickon hesitantly, unsheathing the knife. She shot Rickon a slightly worried look.

Sighing, Rickon went to sit next to Shireen. “Go ahead,” he prompted, facing her squarely.

Shireen glanced over to Jon before slowly tracing over a few of the weaker points on Rickon’s body. Starting with the tendons behind the feet, she slowly made her way up, lightly dragging the blade over Rickon. At the jugular, she paused, looking back at Jon. The lapse in her attention caused her to press the blade further into Rickon’s neck than she usually did.

Rickon cleared his throat loudly.

Jumping at the sound, Shireen pulled back, moving the knife just high enough to nick Rickon’s jaw. Jon snorted.

“I’m so sorry!” Shireen said, gathering her sleeve to wipe the blood from his wound.

“It’s fine,” Rickon replied, pushing her hand away. Still, he rubbed at the cut. Only a small amount of blood had been drawn. “Just a scratch.”

“It’d probably do him some good to cut off some of that hair,” Jon said.

“Look who’s talking, Snow,” Rickon called back. He stuck his tongue out at Jon, biting back a smile.

Jon moved toward the door. “I just wanted to make sure everything was fine,” Jon said, mostly to Shireen. “Excuse me, Princess.”

Rickon waited until Jon was closing the door before he said, “Maybe I should also teach you how to throw a knife.” He watched as Jon hesitated before closing the door fully. Once the door was shut, Rickon rubbed at his jaw again. “Man, you really know how to kill someone.”

Shireen’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re not going to die, right?”

“I was joking,” Rickon said. “I’m not going to die before I find out how many stupid words have ‘g’s in them.”

Shireen let out a shaky laugh. She turned back to the paper before realizing that she was still carrying the knife. Rickon plucked it from her grip, causing her to jump again.

“Easy,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He wiped the blade off on his pants. “You need to keep the blade clean.”

Grabbing the blade, he handed the hilt back to Shireen. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She put the knife away and began writing a list of words. “Was Jon really just checking on you?” 

Rickon smirked. “He just wanted to make sure I wasn’t fucking you.” He kept his eyes trained on Shireen, gauging her reaction.

As expected, she froze at the words. After a moment, she continued writing somewhat shakily. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Apparently, I’m too friendly,” Rickon said, leaning back in his chair. “But you’re safe from me. Shaggydog would probably kill me if you told him to.”

Shireen finally looked up, meeting Rickon’s eyes. “Why?”

Shrugging slightly, Rickon said, “I’m not sure.” Thinking on it, he realized that he _should_ know. He spent enough time in Shaggydog’s head during hunts and at night. Somehow, he could only manage to tell Shaggydog’s general mood. Around Shireen, it was just calm. He was at ease but alert for possible danger. Rickon didn’t know what to make of it. 

Shireen slid the parchment toward Rickon. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Rickon asked, looking down at the words.

“Words with silent ‘g’s,” Shireen said. “You said you wanted to know them.”

“Seriously, though, who puts silent letters in the middle of words?” Rickon asked. “What’s the point?”

Shireen gave him a tight smile. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But it’s starting to get dark. I should head off.”

“Alright,” Rickon said. He looked up to her. She was tense for some reason. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her what Jon wanted. 

Shireen stood quietly, going over to the door. She put a hand on the knob, but she didn’t open it. 

“Take Shaggydog with you,” Rickon suggested. The direwolf rose from his spot on the floor, moving over to Shireen and nudging her legs with his snout.

Turning back to the direwolf, Shireen leaned into the Shaggydog’s fur. Rickon realized that Shaggydog was taking up most of the doorway and that he stood near Shireen’s shoulder. Shireen still treated Shaggydog gently, stroking his fur in soft, even strokes.

“Rickon?” she muttered. “You’re not going to… do anything, right?”

“I won’t,” Rickon confirmed. “I’ve honestly never even thought about it.”

“Oh, okay,”’ Shireen said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Rickon watched as Shireen left the room with Shaggydog, keeping one of her hands in his fur. He had every intention of figuring out the words she left in front of him, but he couldn’t focus. For some reason, she seemed sad or disappointed when she left. Turning it over in his head, Rickon couldn’t even figure out why. He briefly considered warging into Shaggydog to see if she would talk about it, but he thought that it wouldn’t be the best thing to do. Instead, he just re-wrote the strange words over and over again, trying to figure out if they all rhymed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! This one was pretty fun to write. I tried to make it more fluffy, but these characters just demand seriousness. More to come next week!  
> Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon investigates Shaggydog's strange behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for violence/gore at the beginning of this one. And happy Friday the 13th!!

Shaggydog started to spend considerably less time with Rickon over the next two months. During the day, this didn’t bother him at all, but the nights were the most confusing. Rickon was used to slipping into Shaggydog’s mind at night, following him on runs through the snow and hunts for rabbit. Lately, if he slipped into Shaggydog at night, there was simply nothing. He knew that Shaggydog at least began every night in his room, but he was becoming progressively more absent earlier into the nights. Rickon had even become forced to start using furs to stay warm throughout the night. Usually, Shaggydog’s body heat was enough to permeate the room and keep it at a decent temperature, but that wasn’t exactly a possibility now.

Rickon assumed that Shaggydog had just been spending the nights with Shireen, but he didn’t have any evidence for that. He never felt Shaggydog leaving. He just woke up in the middle of the night colder than he had ever been before. Rickon wasn’t used to being cold, and he certainly wasn’t used to having Shaggydog wander off at night to do nothing.

One night, Rickon decided to stay up and try to watch Shaggydog. He wanted to determine exactly when in the night his direwolf was leaving him, and he wanted to know exactly where he was going. Unfortunately, the day Rickon decided this was also the day Leathers had decided to beat him to a pulp in training. Instead of doing it another night, Rickon tried to persevere through his exhaustion.

He fell asleep before he even registered that he was in bed.

And he woke up to taste of blood in his mouth.

The worst part was that he couldn’t recognize the scent. Usually, with Shaggydog’s prey, Rickon could tell what he was hunting. Everything about this was wrong. Rickon sprang out of his bed on pure adrenaline, searching about frantically for a weapon. He grabbed a blade at random and left the door before freezing mid-step. He then continued moving toward the Queen’s Tower.

“Where?” he asked aloud, hoping the message would get through to Shaggydog.

A bark came from above him, confirming Rickon’s suspicions. He entered the tower quickly, climbing up to Shireen’s room. He tried the door, but it only gave a bit. He shoved his shoulder into the door. It didn’t move at all. Rickon stilled himself, taking a deep breath. There were no sounds of struggle coming from the other side. Whatever had happened was over. But what happened?

“Shaggy!” Rickon called.

A low growl came from the other side. Rickon tried to make his direwolf grant him passage. After a few minutes that were far too long, he entered the dimly lit room. He could make out the scent of blood and figures on the bed and on the floor. None of them were moving. Rickon raised his blade, stepping further into the room. 

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw Shireen sitting on the bed. Her eyes seemed to shine in the low light. She was still partially wrapped in a blanket, and her knife was held out with a shaky hand. Rickon stepped forward cautiously, raising his hands in surrender.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re fine.”

Shireen didn’t move. Her eyes were still trained on the floor just past her bed. As Rickon got closer to the scene, Shaggydog began to growl. He probably wanted to feed on the body. Rickon turned to face Shaggydog squarely.

“Out,” he commanded.

Shaggydog continued to growl at him, baring his teeth in the process. Rickon knew this behavior. Shaggydog had cooped himself up for too long. He needed to run and hunt freely. However, Rickon wasn’t going to let Shaggydog eat a human in front of Shireen. Shaggydog seemed to sense Rickon’s intentions and coiled back for a pounce. Just as he jumped, Rickon called again, stepping away. “Out!”

With a snarl, Shaggydog left the room slowly before sprinting across the snow. Rickon let out a heavy sigh, turning to face Shireen.

She still hadn’t moved from the bed. She didn’t even seem to register that he had entered the room. Rickon stepped forward carefully, easing next to her on the bed. He just needed to get the knife away from her, but her knuckles were white over the hilt. Rickon slowly reached for her wrist, hoping to grab the knife and her arm at the same time. Just before he made contact, Shireen recoiled from him, slashing the knife in the process.

“Fuck,” Rickon muttered, moving out of harm’s way. Shireen was looking at him now, but the crazed look hadn’t left her eyes. He started slowly, “Hey… just give me the knife. It’s okay.”

Shireen’s hands were still shaking furiously, but she stayed still as Rickon pulled the blade from her grip. He held it up to the closest source of light. The blade was bloodied. He’d deal with that later.

Holding the knife far away, he started pulling the blankets off Shireen. Then, he grabbed her by the wrist and started pulling her to the edge of the bed. Just as she was about to step down, the man on the floor let out a groan. Shireen jumped back a foot.

Rickon looked down to the body that he had presumed dead. Judging by the amount of blood, even if he was alive, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

“H-he’s not dead?” Shireen stammered.

“He will be,” Rickon said. “Just leave him.”

“He’s suffering.” Shireen was looking down at the man again. Rickon was having a hard time not thinking about him as a body.

“Good,” he said. “Serves him right.”

Shireen visibly swallowed, looking back to Rickon. She seemed to have more control over herself now, but the intensity hadn’t left her eyes. “We should… we should kill him,” she said. “End his suffering.”

“Do you want to?” Rickon asked, holding out the knife to her.

Shireen flinched away from the blade. Belatedly, Rickon remembered the blood on it. Leaning down, he wiped the blade off on the man’s pants. The man let out another hollow groan. Rickon quickly found the blade he brought from his room on the floor. It was his sword, and he had somehow managed to drop it near the doorway. Picking up the sword, Rickon stepped forward and swiftly impaled the man at the neck. He wasn’t beheaded, mostly because Rickon didn’t think Shireen could take that shock.

Turning back to the bed, Rickon shoved a hand under her pillows and located the sheath of the knife there. He sheathed her knife and held it in the same hand as his sword. He quickly sought out one of her furs that looked untouched by blood, finding one in the far corner of her bed. Grabbing the fur, he wrapped it tightly around Shireen’s shoulders. Then, he extended a hand to Shireen. She moved off the bed and grabbed at his elbow instead. They were in the hall before Rickon realized that the blood spatter had hit her. He took a deep breath and led her slowly back to his room.

Rickon let Shireen into the room and reached out for Shaggydog. His direwolf appeared to be at least a league away, and Rickon knew Shaggydog wouldn’t be back for a while. He led Shireen to the bed, where she sat slowly. He went through his belongings for one of his ripped up shirts. He wadded it up in one hand and knelt down in front of Shireen. 

She still seemed to be a bit dazed. As gently as he could, Rickon began to wipe the blood from her skin. Most of it was on her greyscale, but she seemed oblivious to it. When he moved his hand back, Shireen snatched out at his wrist.

“There’s… blood?” she asked.

“Just a bit,” Rickon said, refolding the shirt. “Hold still.”

Shireen’s hand fell to her lap as Rickon finished wiping the blood away. Once he finished, she tentatively reached up in attempt to feel any remaining blood on her face. Rickon noticed that she completely ignored her greyscale during her examination. With a sigh, Rickon stood up.

“You might want to change, too,” he said. “I’ll go get you something else.”

Rickon turned back to the door, tossing his thoroughly ruined shirt onto the table. He grabbed his boots and quickly shoved his feet into them before exiting. Rickon exited the room, closing the door. He leaned back against the doorframe as Shaggydog padded up to him.

“You stay outside,” Rickon said, pointing to Shaggydog threateningly. Shaggydog pressed his ears back against his head, dipping down and laying at Rickon’s feet.

With a sigh, Rickon made his way back to the Queen’s Tower. At the entrance, Rickon grabbed a torch from the wall before heading back to Shireen’s room. He spared a single glance at the body on the floor before turning to a wardrobe that he assumed held her clothes. Opening it, Rickon grabbed a few of her dresses, slightly shocked at how heavy they were. He was about to leave with only those when he noticed a few drawers at the bottom. With a bout of curiosity, he opened them. The fabric in this drawer was much thinner than the dresses, and they all seemed really impractical to Rickon. Still, he grabbed a handful of the clothing and stuffed it in with the dresses. He left the room and made his way back to his room.

Shaggydog was still sitting guard outside the door, and he seemed infinitely calmer than he had before. Rickon moved around Shaggydog, letting himself into the room. Whatever Shireen had been wearing was in a pile near his bed, and she was buried under his furs, sleeping soundly. Rickon tossed her clothes into a corner of the room, and Shaggydog went onto the bed. The direwolf curled up next to Shireen.

Rickon shook his head, but firmly resolved to make no effort in reclaiming his bed. Instead, he moved his backpack up against a wall to use as a pillow. One of his furs was still unclaimed, and he pulled it over himself. Settling onto the floor, Rickon felt a wave of exhaustion hit him and push him into sleep.

-

Hours later, Rickon woke from being overheated. In a sleepy haze, he kicked off his boots, but the heat was still suffocating him. Bleary-eyed, he pulled three furs off his body, sitting up to kick them away further. He had every intention of lying back on the hard wooden floor and sleeping for the remainder of the day. Before he could settle back down, Shireen called his name. He turned to her, meaning to tell her his intentions, but she went on.

“You can have your bed back,” she said. “I didn’t mean to take it. I just nodded off.”

“I’m fine,” Rickon muttered, turning back to his makeshift bed.

“Rickon, go to your bed,” Shireen said. “You need proper sleep.”

Nodding slowly, Rickon got to his feet and staggered over to his bed, collapsing on it. He felt more than heard Shireen moving to place the furs over him again, so he waved her off. “Too hot,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” Shireen whispered. He felt her hand touch his forehead before moving away. A cool breeze entered the room, washing over him.

Rickon stretched out on the bed, letting the cold seep into his skin before settling into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, he was woken minutes later to his door being slammed open. Groggily, he attempted to wake himself up but only managed to roll over into his pillow. Through the haze of sleep, he heard Shireen trying to quiet whoever was coming in. Rickon let out a groan and sat up, rubbing the hair out of his eyes.

“What do you want?” he mumbled. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Jon was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. “You missed practice this morning,” he said shortly before turning to Shireen. “Your Grace, I actually need to address you as well.”

Rickon shut his eyes tight. He definitely wasn’t rested enough for this. Shireen had taken a step away from Jon, straightening up. Rubbing one of his eyes, Rickon reached out to tug at Shireen’s skirt. Instantly, she turned toward him, and he gestured to the furs across the room. Shireen crossed the room, grabbed one of the furs, and walked it over to Rickon. She tossed the fur over him, making sure to cover him completely. Seeing Jon’s expression, Rickon muttered his thanks and rolled away from them.

“Princess,” Jon insisted.

“Outside,” Shireen said sharply.

“What?”

“Outside, Lord Commander,” Shireen said. “He needs to rest.”

There was some further debate, but Rickon heard them move outside and shut the door. He rolled back onto his back and rested his arm over his eyes. Shaggydog began to pace the room, eventually settling somewhere near the door. He let out a whine, and Rickon realized that they had shut the door completely. Shaggydog couldn’t get out. Ignoring the direwolf, Rickon tried to settle into sleep, but Shaggydog was making it impossible.

Just as Rickon was considering letting Shaggydog outside, he heard the door open. Jon was still saying something, but Shireen cut him off.

“Enough, Lord Commander,” she said. “I have given you the only terms I will accept. When you have seen to them, I will listen to what you have to say.”

“Princess,” Jon pleaded.

“Goodnight,” Shireen insisted, closing the door.

Rickon heard Shireen let out a huff then take a few steps. After a moment, he felt the edge of his bed dip. He listened to Shireen take a few deep breaths before her breathing settled.

“What did Jon want?” Rickon asked.

He felt Shireen jump, so he sat up to look at her. One of her hands was held at her throat, and her hair had fallen in front of her face. Rickon felt the urge to push it away, but distance made it too much to seriously consider. He moved his legs to free up the space behind her. Shireen steadied and rubbed at her face.

“He wanted to know why there was a dead body in my room,” Shireen said. “And also why I didn’t have any of my meals today.”

“How late is it?” Rickon frowned. He thought he had only been asleep for a few minutes.

Shireen glanced over to him. “Past sunset,” she said. Then, she went on, “I told him that I would not return there and that he must personally move my things without informing any of his men.”

Rickon nodded. “Serves him right… housing a wildling here.”

“Aren’t you a wildling, my lord?” Shireen teased. He could hear the smile on her lips.

“A free man, _princess_ ,” Rickon corrected.

Shireen rolled her eyes at him. “I am a princess,” she said. “That’s not an insult.”

“You mean to insult me?”

“Do you prefer ‘lord’ now, Lord Stark?”

Rickon groaned. “No,” he muttered, before adding, “what’s a princess, then?”

Shireen shuffled back, leaning against the wall. Rickon sat up, leaning sideways against the wall. Seeing her wrap her arms around herself, he threw the fur over Shireen’s lap. They stayed up late into the night, Shireen explaining how the hierarchy of Westeros worked and where they fit into the system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty fun to write. I enjoyed it at any rate. Let me know what you think! Comments make it so much easier to write.


	12. Chapter 12

Rickon didn’t want to wake up. A part of him recognized that he had to because he had sword fighting lessons to attend, but he was extremely comfortable on his bed. For once, he hadn’t woken up too hot, as was usually the case with Shaggydog next to him, nor was he too cold as he’d been with Shaggydog leaving. However, something was picking at the back of his mind. His comfort was partially due to a weight that he felt leaning on his chest and arm. With Shaggydog, that resulted in him overheating. Now, he needed to wake up so he could figure out what it was.

Slowly, Rickon forced himself awake, using his free hand to rub his eyes until they worked. Then, he felt the weight on him moving, not roused, but it felt as if it was breathing. Rickon looked down and bit down on his tongue hard when he saw that Shireen had managed to turn him into her pillow for the night.

Slumping down as much as he could, Rickon tried to remember how he even ended up like this. He definitely remembered offering Shireen his bed. He definitely planned on sleeping on the floor.

He thought back farther. Shireen was explaining the hierarchy of Westeros to him. What her being a princess meant and what he being a lord meant. Rickon knew he had asked several questions, and they must have been tired by the end of it. He remembered moving across the room to make his bed on the floor, but then Shireen called him back. _Right._

Fuck.

Somehow, he managed to agree that since they both fit on the bed, it would be fine. There was plenty of space. She had even curled up facing away from him to prove it. Then, how in the _hell_ did she end up nearly on top of him?

Next to him, Shireen let out a small incoherent mumble. Rickon froze, waiting for her to wake up and realize now why this was a bad idea. Shireen stayed asleep, though. She just moved about, digging her nose into his side and reaching across his chest to pull him closer.

_Fuck._

Rickon needed to leave _right now_. He tried to assess the situation calmly: her arm was across his chest, she was using his left shoulder as a pillow, and her hair was splayed about her face onto him. Luckily, he seemed to have free motion of his legs, for which he was eternally grateful. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to explain anything she may have felt in the middle of the night.

Taking a deep breath, Rickon decided to start slowly. Hooking his thumb under her loose hair, he slowly swept it behind her shoulder. Rickon was surprised to find that it was soft. Shireen’s hair was definitely the softest material he had ever touched. It felt like ribbons of water falling between his fingers. Several locks fell loose from his grasp, and he repeated the motion until they were all in place. Then, mostly out of curiosity, he buried his fingertips into the hair behind her ear, combing it with a slow stroke. Shireen made a small sound of comfort, moving slightly and pulling Rickon from his thoughts.

Hadn’t she just told him exactly what they were required to do for the realm? Hadn’t she just taken the time to explain that he would marry a lady to rule Winterfell with and that she would marry a lord to be king? Didn’t she make it clear that they were to live thousands of leagues away from each other once they left the Wall?

She was a princess, for fuck’s sake, and Rickon knew what that meant now. And it certainly meant that he couldn’t be playing with her hair while she slept or thinking about her as anything other than a princess. Rickon pulled his hand away and reached for her wrist to free him further.

It took several attempts for Shireen to finally settle with her arm near her own body. Unfortunately, her hand was still on him, and it was resting on his hip which was definitely _not helping_. Rickon carefully scooted away from her, sliding his arm slowly out from under her head. That ended up jostling her quite a bit, and Rickon plunged his hand back into her hair to steady her head as he freed his arm. Once he finished, he quickly shoved a pillow where his arm had previously been and separated himself as far from the bed as possible. He hit his forehead against the far wall, trying to organize his thoughts.

Shireen let out a small moan, causing Rickon to turn back. She was squirming slightly on the bed, reaching her hands across the open space where he had just been. And… _was she actually searching for him?_

Rickon quickly grabbed the necessary belongings for his lessons and left while he was still barefoot. The snow under his feet was almost enough to clear his mind until he felt like her arms were circling him again. Shaggydog. _Fuck._ Rickon quickly pulled his mind as far from Shaggydog’s as he possibly could, continuing down to the yard and pulling on his clothes as he went.

“Actually joining us today, Stark?” Leathers called, lining up the men of the Night’s Watch.

“Fuck off,” Rickon called back, going to retrieve his armor and lining up with the other men. Then, he used his lessons to finally clear his mind of Shireen. 

Shireen, who would dare to reach out for a wild man. Shireen, who taught him letters and answered all his questions. Shireen, who was willing to learn how to protect herself. Shireen, who actually sought his comfort for the night. That Shireen was too familiar to him, and he slowly re-forged his idea of her with every stroke of his sword.

Shireen, the Baratheon princess. The princess and heir to all seven kingdoms. The princess who would be loyal and fair to her subjects. The princess who valued letters and writing. The princess who was without a guard. The princess who seeks his warmth… No. The princess. _The Baratheon princess._

If only Osha could see him now. The teasing he’d receive for having a girl turning his direwolf into a puppy and for hiding every smile he should be sharing with her.

Fuck.

No.

She is the princess of Westeros, and he is a Skagosi wildling. She will live in King’s Landing, and he will live in Winterfell. Once they leave Castle Black, they will be separated forever, and it would not do him well to dwell on thoughts of stolen princesses. Because no matter how much of a wildling he is, she will never be one too. She cannot be stolen.

Rickon took a hard blow to the chest. He let the air rush out of his lungs and replaced it with the cold air of the North.

“Yer getting lousy,” Leathers said, breaking him from his thoughts. He furrowed his brow at Rickon. “Yer distracted.”

“Aye,” Rickon agreed, getting back to his feet slowly.

“Go clear yer head, boy,” Leathers instructed. “Yer useless like this.”

Without hesitation, Rickon removed his armor and put it back with the remainder of the equipment. He fastened his dagger and knife into his belt and boot respectively, and then he exited the main gate of Castle Black.

He needed some sort of clarity. He needed distance from this place. He needed distance from the princess that refused to leave his mind.

So he ran.

Rickon ran straight into the nearby woods, weaving through the trees until he felt like he was finally separate from the rest of the world. It didn’t compare to the isolation of Skagos, but it was something. Slowing to a trot, Rickon looked over his shoulder to find the Wall. His feet continued moving, leading him straight into a concealed tree root and tripping him.

“Fuck,” Rickon mumbled, rolling over in the snow without bothering to pick himself up. He didn’t see the point anyway. His thoughts were still muddled.

This morning had managed to break the barrier that existed between Shireen and him. She suddenly existed as more of a person to him. She became something else to him – a friend, maybe. But why did he feel a knot in his throat and chest whenever he thought of her? And why did he feel guilty about it?

He briefly considered running, returning to Winterfell right now regardless of what was happening. He could probably make it there just fine. According to Shireen, the Kingsroad would lead him straight there. He’d be without his lessons, then. Without her company.

_Good,_ he thought bitterly. Surely that would be better than turning into his direwolf and chasing after her. Rickon let out a groan, sitting up to lean against a nearby tree. He tapped the back of his head against the bark of the tree a few times, needing a proper response to whatever was happening.

Rickon sat in the ice until it started snowing. He was cold again, a rare occurrence in itself. Then, he remembered that he left without returning to his room. He had no cloak with him. He couldn’t leave to Winterfell now even if he wanted to. He’d never survive. With a heavy sigh, Rickon got up and returned to Castle Black.

Walking straight to the common hall, Rickon retrieved a small meal and ate slowly. He still didn’t know what to do regarding Shireen. He couldn’t ignore her, and he certainly couldn’t get any more familiar with her. He needed to maintain his distance and keep things as close to what they were before as he could. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to do that if she was staying in his room, but he’d deal with that later. Maybe he could help Jon move her things and get her out faster. Jon might see that as a peak in interest, though. 

Rickon let out a sigh, staring down at his empty plate. Everything just needed to be the same as before. He could manage that. And if he couldn’t, he would leave to Winterfell. Slowly, Rickon prepared to exit the hall and return to his room. On the way there, Leathers stopped him.

“Alright there, boy?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Rickon said. “Just busy thinking about things.”

“Thinking about your princess?” Leathers teased.

“She’s not _my_ princess,” Rickon pointed out.

Leathers nodded, crossing his arms. “I suppose princesses belong to the realm.”

Rickon rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, old man,” he snapped. “She’s a free woman.”

“That’s not true, boy,” Leathers said. He stepped closer to Rickon and tried to place a hand on his shoulder.

Rickon shoved past him, mumbling, “It should be.”

He continued on to his room, stopping outside to kick the excess snow off his boots. He took a moment for a few breaths before finally entering.

Shireen was seated at the small table, reading a letter with such intensity she hadn’t noticed his entrance. Rickon kicked off his boots, making as much noise as possible. She still didn’t look up. Rickon took the remaining seat, taking care to drag the legs across the wood. She was still absorbed in the letter. Rickon caught himself gazing at her, staring at her bright blue eyes, her curtain of black hair, her greyscale, the slope of her nose… He quickly cut off his thoughts. _The Baratheon princess,_ he reminded himself.

Rickon no longer wanted to be here. Not in his room, not at Castle Black, not at the Wall… he wanted to be far away. Somewhere where he wouldn’t be caught longing after a Baratheon princess that he knew was off-limits. Maybe that made her all the more appealing. Maybe he wouldn’t like her if he could have her. Maybe he should just steal her so she could properly reject him. Rickon forcefully hit his head against the table.

Nothing was helping. He was caught – snared – by this woman, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Rickon?” Shireen called.

He looked up abruptly. “Yeah?”

“I thought I lost you there,” she said, smiling back down at the letter.

His heart seemed to leap from his chest, and… No. Fuck no. His heart shouldn’t be going anywhere. He should feel nothing. Rickon Stark did not care for feelings. He bit people. He was wild. He was feral. He was not going to chase skirts and feel his heart leaping.

“Rickon?” Shireen called again. She reached out for his hand, and he pulled away immediately, hiding the motion by putting both arms behind his head.

“Yeah?” he repeated, hoping to all the gods that he didn’t look as stupid as he felt. And _why the fuck did it matter anyway?_

“Do you want to read the letter?” she asked. “For practice? It’s from Ser Davos.”

“Um, no thanks,” Rickon said. “I’m not really in the mood to read.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small.

Rickon felt like taking his words back. Here he was, pushing away the Baratheon princess and making her sad. He just wanted to see her smile again.

“What does it say?” Rickon asked.

“My father is marching on the Dreadfort,” she said, her fingers toying with the edge of the parchment. “Ser Davos has prepared a small company to head for the Wall. They’re to retrieve us and return us to my father.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Rickon felt small. “When will they get here?”

“If the weather holds, one month,” Shireen said.

One month. He now had a timer. In one turn of the moon, they would depart the Wall. Another moon would put them at Winterfell. With luck, he’d accompany her to her father’s camp. And afterwards, he would never see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES. FINALLY. This is the one I was most looking forward to. (I mean, now there's another, but still!)  
> The wheels are turning! I'm so excited.  
> Let me know what you think. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon and Shireen go beyond the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're getting this one early because I'm really excited for it.

For the next five days, Rickon tiptoed around Shireen as much as he could. It was particularly difficult when she refused to leave at night and insisted that they continue reading and writing every day. Though, in all honesty, Rickon could probably convince her to stop their lessons, but he wouldn’t be able to come to terms with spending less time with her. His only hold on any shred of honor that he had was his insistence that he spend his nights on the floor. Shireen, of course, called him silly at this and made a spectacle of having too much space on the bed every night. Rickon pretended that he didn’t notice her small act every night, but he caught himself falling asleep with a smile every time she did it.

Rickon was surprised to wake near midnight with Shireen settled next to him. He jumped away from her as quickly as he could, taking care not to wake her in the process. Pacing the room, Rickon noticed a small note written on one of their scrap papers for practice.

_If you’re not going to sleep comfortably, then neither am I._

Rickon sighed. Leave it to him to be stuck with the most stubborn princess in the entire world. He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing at his face. He could just leave her on the floor. There was plenty of floor in the room. He could find another spot. But he couldn’t reconcile himself with bringing about her discomfort. She was probably used to featherbeds and handmaidens.

Going over to his bed, Rickon quickly ripped off the furs. Then, he returned to Shireen’s side and knelt down. With as much care as he could manage, he shuffled Shireen into his lap, bracing her head and trying to steady himself before standing. Once he was certain that he wouldn’t fall, he hooked an arm behind her legs and stood up in one swift motion. Shireen made a small noise of dissent against his neck, and Rickon froze.

“Mmmm…” Shireen mumbled. He glanced down to see her squeezing her eyes shut before looking at him through the fog of sleep. “You’re tall…”

Rickon let out a huff of air, feeling her rock in his arms from the motion. He wanted to make some kind of comment back, show her that he was listening to her while she spoke in her sleep, but he stopped himself. If he was going to feel guilty about carrying her, then he was definitely going to feel guilty about flirting with her. He became hyper-aware of her arms around his neck. He could feel her fingertips brushing against his hair.

Biting his lip, Rickon continued to his bed, setting her down on the bare sheets. Getting caught in the tangle of her skirts, he quickly straightened out her legs before setting her head down. Her arms were hooked behind his neck, and Rickon reached back to loosen her grip.

“No,” she mumbled. “Stay here. It’s cold.”

Rickon swallowed hard, trying not to think of how close her face was to his. “We have furs, princess,” he whispered. “Let me get you one.”

Shireen didn’t seem too pleased to hear this, but the sleep seemed to claim her body once more. With any luck, she wouldn’t remember this in the morning. Once she went limp, Rickon set her down the remainder of the way and moved away as soon as he could. He crossed the room to retrieve the furs, and he found Shireen looking up at him when he returned.

“Rickon?” she called. She was still mostly asleep.

He nodded, pulling the furs over her.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked.

“You needed warmth, princess,” he said. Unable to push her away when she was so obviously drowsy, he tucked the blankets in around her.

Shireen breathed out a small “oh” before falling asleep again. Rickon crouched down beside the bed, wondering if she would wake another time. He quickly silenced the part of him that was telling him to just get in bed anyway and decided on one last look at her before returning to sleep.

Her hair was fanned out against his pillows, some of it sliding down the small curves. Her lips were slightly parted, and her chest was rising and falling steadily. Rickon tore his gaze away from her chest and told himself that he would leave at once, but he found his hand moving to fix her hair into an even layer.

How could he be so lost in this girl? Rickon felt like he was stuck here, doing anything he could to be closer to her when he knew none of it would never come to fruition. He could watch her from afar as much as he wanted, and he would never have her. Yet somehow, he was okay with that.

Rickon caught himself leaning down toward her, inclining his head to press a kiss to her temple before he stopped himself. Stolen glances were one thing, but stolen kisses were not something he should even be thinking about. Rickon couldn’t be in the room anymore. He couldn’t force himself to stay so close to her when he was thinking about her as anything other than a princess.

He quickly shoved his feet into his boots and left the room, crashing straight into Jon.

“Rickon!” Jon said, jumping away from him. His surprise immediately turned into confusion. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Too hot,” Rickon said simply, trying to wave the matter off. “What with Shaggydog and all…”

Jon raised his eyebrows at Rickon but bent down to lift a small trunk. “The princess is sleeping in your room?”

“Yes,” Rickon said. 

“And you were sleeping…?”

“On the floor,” Rickon said quickly. He hoped the lights were too low for Jon to see his face flush.

Jon continued on, carrying the trunk into a room two doors down from Rickon’s. Rickon entered the room after Jon, seeing piles of boxes and trunks lining the room.

“I think most of it was the Queen’s,” Jon said, placing the trunk down. “The princess can sort through it later.”

“Is this how you’ve been spending your nights?” Rickon asked, looking around at all the boxes.

“What?” Jon asked. His voice was laced with sarcasm. “Is there anything better I could be doing?”

Rickon shrugged. “I wanted to go hunt today,” he said. “Beyond the Wall, so I could see the godswood before we leave.”

Jon nodded his agreement. “I suppose you could,” he responded slowly. “Do you still have the dragonglass dagger?”

Rickon nodded.

“Just bring back something good, then,” Jon said. “We only have you for the next three weeks.”

-

Rickon tried to separate time as much as possible from the rest of his activities. He stopped attending sword fighting lessons in the mornings under the pretense of packing, but his belongings were still few. He could leave at a moment’s notice. As the sun began to rise, Rickon prepared his blades and bow for a hunt. He assumed Shaggydog would stay at Castle Black with Shireen, so he took a few extra arrows.

“What are you doing?” Shireen asked.

Rickon glanced over to the bed. The princess was sitting up, watching his motions with as much intent as she could so early.

“I’m going hunting today,” Rickon said, turning back to his equipment. “I’ll be heading out beyond the Wall to see the godswood and find us some meat.”

“The godswood is beyond the Wall?” she asked. Her voice was more alert now. “I’d like to go.”

Rickon resisted rolling his eyes at her. “There is a godswood in Winterfell, too,” he said. “You can visit there on your way south.”

Shireen was already moving about the room, dressing quickly behind his back. “Yes, but these are the old gods of the north,” she insisted. “You can’t get much further north than beyond the Wall.”

Rickon had to admire her courage. Few men traveled beyond the Wall, and even fewer southerners. Surely, Shireen didn’t realize the dangers of heading out. “It’s not safe out there,” Rickon warned. “You could easily be killed.”

“Not with you protecting me,” Shireen said, fastening a fur cloak over her shoulders. “And Shaggydog.”

Rickon tried to think through the implications of him protecting her and what exactly that entailed. Still, the sun would be full in the sky soon, and he didn’t have time to argue with southern princesses when he could be talking to Bran. 

“I suppose I couldn’t stop you,” he said, watching her pull on boots before slipping gloves over her hands. Rickon appreciated her speed in preparing for a day she hadn’t been planning on.

“I don’t think so,” Shireen said, standing up and tucking her hair into her hood.

“Well, you’re explaining to Jon why you went missing if he asks,” Rickon said. “I can’t have him running around thinking I’ve stolen the princess.”

Rickon left the room with Shireen at his heels. Shaggydog followed at her side. “And why would you steal a princess?” she asked. “We aren’t terribly valuable for most people.”

They approached the gate, and Rickon was surprised to see it unmanned. They must be between shifts in their posts. “Because that’s how wildings get brides,” Rickon told her. “They steal them.”

He could hear Shireen holding in laughter behind him as they crossed the tunnel. “And what does that accomplish?”

“Well, they’d have a woman, then,” Rickon said. “And once a woman is properly stolen, she can either kill her husband or become a spearwife.”

“They don’t even ask?”

“Will you be asked who you wish to marry?” Rickon retorted, turning toward her.

“No,” Shireen said. “I’m likely to marry for whatever alliance my father needs most. He has to win the war if he’s to take the throne.”

“Then why would you expect wildlings to ask?”

Shireen sighed. “Because you always call them free,” she explained. “I thought that marriage would be a choice they’re free to make.”

Rickon tried to think of a proper response to that, but they were already at the other end of the Wall. Soon, they’d have to be silent for a hunt and not draw any attention to themselves. He quickly explained this to Shireen.

“I’ll not ruin your hunt,” she said. “I can manage myself just fine.”

Biting down his comments about how ill-prepared she was to venturing out into the North, Rickon pressed on, leaving the safety of the Wall for the open expanse of the North. Stepping in front of Shireen, Rickon had every intention of leading the way: first to the godswood, then to hunt. However, Shireen placed a hand on his elbow, stopping him.

Rickon turned back in time to see Shireen staring open-mouthed at the expanse of white around them. She took care to look at everything, stepping forward slowly. As her head went back, her hood fell, making her hair fall loose about her shoulders. Rickon watched her hair fly about her face as she continued into the North.

Shireen turned to him, excitement visible in her small bounces. “Rickon!” she exclaimed. “It’s so beautiful.”

Rickon bit the inside of his lip to hide his smile. “It’s just snow, princess,” he said, going forward to meet her. “And if we’re to hunt, we need to be quiet.”

Shireen put a hand to her mouth, backing away slightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” Rickon said quickly. “But we should get going.”

Nodding her assent, Shireen grabbed onto Rickon’s arm, placing her gloved hands in the crook of his elbow. Rickon couldn’t find it in him to push her away, not when she voluntarily moved so close to him. They walked together in companionable silence. Occasionally, she pointed out something to him, usually a leaf or small animal, but her smile was so infectious in those moments that Rickon found himself smiling back. He glanced over at her when he knew the leaves of the weirwoods would be visible soon, hoping to see her light up. He noticed that he had somehow grown a couple inches taller than her, and he let the smile sit on his face.

He could just make out the red of the weirwoods when he suddenly stopped, pulling Shireen back a few paces. Ahead of them, Shaggydog was tense, his fur standing on edge. Rickon could feel Shaggydog’s growl vibrating in his ribcage, and Shireen gave him a worried look, opening her mouth. Rickon clamped his hand firmly over her mouth, shushing her gently. He carefully removed the small bag he’d filled with snacks and other supplies, and he placed it over her shoulder.

Shaggydog was moving ahead of them, stalking after something. Rickon could feel Shaggydog’s focus sharpening his senses, and Shireen was growing visibly scared next to him. He shushed her again, rubbing his hands over her shoulders to calm her. He saw her throat move with a swallow, so he pulled out a knife and offered it to her. She shook her head no, gesturing toward her foot. Grasping onto one of her hands, he pulled her behind him, following after Shaggydog.

Rickon felt bad pulling her directly toward the danger Shaggydog sensed, but he knew that leaving her alone beyond the Wall could end much worse. To her credit, she followed without complaining, but at every small sound he felt her squeeze his hand tighter.

Shaggydog was leading them away from the godswood, deeper into the thicket of trees. As they got closer, Rickon could feel something unnatural surrounding them. He carefully pulled out the dragonglass dagger, brandishing it in front of him. 

He stopped at the last line of trees before a small clearing. Shaggydog was in the middle of the clearing, snarling at something on the other side. Rickon pressed Shireen against the largest tree he could find, beckoning Shaggydog back. The direwolf came slowly, moving next to Shireen. Rickon bent his head down next to her ear.

“If anything happens, you get on Shaggydog and leave, got it?” he hissed.

Shireen frowned at him. “He’s not a horse!” she countered. “And I’m not leaving you.”

“You will if you need to,” Rickon hissed back. “You’re a princess. There are plenty of Starks to replace me.” Shireen was pouting at him and he wanted to kiss her. Instead, he just squeezed her hand before going to cross the small clearing. He could feel Shireen’s hands knotted in Shaggydog’s fur, and he took a deep breath to clear his head.

Rickon could feel an intense cold coming from the trees, and he heard slow steps approaching. Suddenly, he wanted to run. He shouldn’t be trying to stand-off with this creature. This wasn’t how men survive. It was too late now. Rickon gripped the dragonglass dagger tightly, preparing to strike. 

From the far tree line stepped the tallest human he had ever seen. At least, he thought it was human until he saw its eyes. The coldest blue eyes, embedded into the palest skin he had ever seen. Rickon fleetingly thought that there was no way this thing could be alive, but it moved toward him. Rickon had a hard time swallowing. Just below his eye level, Rickon saw a faint shimmer moving near the creature. The sun was too high in the sky for him to decide if it was some sort of blade or if the sun was playing tricks on him.

The creature stepped fully into the clearing, and Rickon thought that this dagger would never get him in close enough for a strike. He heard the sound of a blade moving through air before he saw it. Instinctively, he jumped aside and the blade flew past his ear. With the adrenaline pumping through him, Rickon stood up quickly, trying to determine where the next attack would come from. His misjudged his jump by an inch, and he felt the blade rip through his clothes and across his ribs. The cut _burned_ even though he could feel his clothes freezing around the wound.

Staggering from the hit, he tried to re-adjust his footing. Rickon’s foot fell into a hidden hole and he felt his ankle twist.

“Rickon!” Shireen called.

Rickon wanted to swear at her and tell her to leave, but she was running into the clearing, moving straight toward the creature. _Was she blind?_ Didn’t she realize that the creature would just as easily kill her once it killed him? She was holding her hands out in front of her, as if it would create a barrier that could stop a hit.

The creature paid her no mind, aiming another swipe at his new target. Calling out to Shaggydog, Rickon pulled himself from the snow, stepping fully onto his twisted ankle. He lunged at Shireen, pressing his hand into her hips and throwing her over to Shaggydog. His throw lost momentum, but Shaggydog leapt forward, dipping down to catch Shireen over his back.

“Good dog,” Rickon muttered, as the creature’s blade slashed through his calf. The burning sensation of the cut ripped through his body, and he fell into the snow. He looked up to see Shaggydog disappearing into the trees and breathed out a sigh of relief. At least they were safe. At least they’d survive. Rickon rolled himself over halfway to find the creature again. He couldn’t move due to the injuries on his leg, so he figured he’d at least stare death in the face.

The creature had other ideas, though. It wasn’t interested in finishing off Rickon. It was looking to pursue Shaggydog. It did have to walk past Rickon to get at them, so he grabbed onto the dragonglass dagger for one last attack. He didn’t think he could kill the creature, but a hit to the ankle would slow him down considerably. Rickon waited for the creature to be within striking distance, mustered up the rest of his strength and rolled himself over, impaling the dagger into the heel of the creature.

Before Rickon could see the results of his strike, he felt the blood loss from his wounds, and the cold settled into his skin. He sagged down into ice, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More action! Getting into more things and moving things along.  
> Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon wakes from his fight.

Blinking slowly, Rickon realized that he was covered in a layer of snow. He recognized that he needed to move before he froze to death, but his limbs felt infinitely more sluggish. Bracing his weight on his hands, he attempted to lift himself from the snow, making it to his knees before he collapsed again. Rickon flexed his hands and feet, trying to get his blood moving before he tried to move again. One foot was moving slower than the other.

Rickon remembered the battle, and he quickly looked around for any sign of the creature that had attacked. Seeing nothing, he let out a heavy sigh and tried to figure out his next move. He needed to make sure Shireen was safe. He needed to get back to the Wall. And he needed to figure out how much time had passed since his fight.

First, he needed to move. Twisting his body around, Rickon examined his calf. He let out a wince when he saw that the flesh around the cut was turning various shades of blue. He needed warmth to fix this, but he could only think of one solution to his problem. Rickon sought out the dragonglass dagger, finding it near him in the snow. Then, he pressed the blade gently into the wound before extending the cut upward.

Grinding his teeth, Rickon bore the pain before feeling the warmth rush over his leg. At least it wouldn’t freeze off. He just needed to make it to safety before he completely drained himself. Literally.

Rickon put the dragonglass dagger back into his belt and pulled out his sword, hoping to use it as a walking stick. It was a mediocre solution to his problem, but it was enough to bring him to his feet. With slow, heavy steps, Rickon returned to the tree line that Shaggydog escaped behind. Leaning against a tree, he carefully adjusted the sword in his hand. He needed one good cut to the right bough.

Grabbing onto a low branch, Rickon swung the sword up, jumping and slicing at the same time. He landed poorly on his ankle, reigniting the pain from the twist he suffered. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered, before rolling back over to pick himself up again. Luckily, the slice into the tree had done the trick, and a sizeable branch was in the snow behind him. Ripping off the smaller branches, he braced his weight onto the bough. The tree was of a sturdy material and didn’t give much under his weight.

Now, Rickon needed a destination. He extended his mind out to Shaggydog, trying to locate the direwolf in the expanse of the north. To his surprise, Shaggydog seemed to be waiting for him, and Rickon almost lost consciousness slipping into his mind. Pulling up his barriers to keep himself safe, Rickon tentatively reached out to Shaggydog again.

He knew that Shaggydog was beyond the Wall. A few moments later, he felt Shireen stroking Shaggydog’s fur, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. They were safe, somewhere in the cold expanse of the north. Rickon felt the tether to Shaggydog growing stronger, and he finally knew where he had to go. Gripping onto the bough, Rickon slowly started his journey through the snow.

Walking was slow, painful work for Rickon. Every step felt like needles were stabbing into his leg, but he took comfort in the fact that he could even feel his leg. More pressing was that with each step, he felt the wound reopening. This sent fresh blood over his wound, but it also made his odds of bleeding out much higher. The sun was starting to set on the far horizon, and Rickon wondered if it was even the same day as before.

Just as Rickon started going over his options for nightfall, he spotted a splotch of black in the distance. Fumbling with his sword, Rickon braced himself for another fight until the creature hit his vision.

“Shaggy!” he called. His voice was weaker than he expected. As the direwolf came close, Rickon looked around for Shireen. Where was she? Rickon reached out for Shaggydog and buried his face into Shaggydog’s pelt. Bracing his weight onto the wolf, Rickon let Shaggydog’s warmth seep into his body. He looked up once more and saw Shireen appear, as if straight from the snow.

She picked up the hem of her skirts, running over to him. Rickon immediately realized that she’d lost her cloak somewhere and reached up to remove his own. Before he managed that, she threw her arms around his shoulders. Rickon was sure they would have fallen over if Shaggydog wasn’t right behind him.

“You’re safe!” she breathed out, right next to his ear. “I thought you were… I wanted to go… Shaggy wouldn’t let me…”

Shireen pulled away slightly, and she looked close to crying. Rickon wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close again. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

At that, Shireen pulled away to cross her arms over her chest. “You are _not_ fine,” she said defiantly. “You haven’t had anything to eat all day, and I know you were injured in that fight.”

 _All day._ It was just a day. Rickon hadn’t missed that much time, and they were both safe. The sun was still setting, though, and the Wall was too far off.

“We need somewhere to stay for the night,” he said. “And I’ll need something to eat.”

“Oh, Shaggy found a place,” Shireen said, brightening up. She went to Rickon’s side and placed one of his arms over her shoulders, carrying his weight to the snowbank she’d appeared from. Behind it, there was a small rock cave, and her belongings were piled into a corner. Her cloak was spread across the floor, making a small area that wasn’t covered in snow to sit on.

Shireen tried to sit him onto the cloak, but he moved it away before sitting next to the cloak. “My leg,” he explained. “It’s still bleeding.”

“Well, then let me see,” she said, reaching out to him.

Rickon saw a small slash of red and grabbed her wrists. There was a thin cut running across her palms, and the skin around it was close to freezing. Shireen pulled her hands away.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, rubbing her hands together and standing to move away, but Rickon grabbed onto her boot. She stopped her movement as Rickon pulled the knife from her boot. Then, he reached into her many layers of skirts, and she heard fabric ripping. Dropping the knife, Rickon ripped a circle of fabric from the skirts before slicing it into two pieces.

“Come here,” Rickon said, sitting up and pulling her down. Shireen went willingly, but she was staring at him with an intense focus. Carefully, Rickon wrapped the fabric around her hands, tying the knots securely over the cut. Then, he pulled off his gloves and put them over her hands. 

Shireen blinked at him. Slowly, she reached out to press a hand to his chest. Rickon winced. He had completely forgotten about the cut on his ribs. Shireen, however, set to work slicing up more of her skirts. Then, she started to untie his shirts. Rickon pulled away slightly, and she glared at him. Immediately, she resumed her work, opening up his shirts until she could clean his wound and wrap it up.

Rickon stayed absolutely still as she wrapped the fabric around his chest. He tried to keep the heat from rising to his face, but he knew that his attempt was useless. Once Shireen was finished, he quickly put his shirts back on, tying up his leather jerkin as a distraction. When he looked up, Shireen was staring at him. Her bright blue eyes were staring into his, and he felt his jaw threatening to drop.

She was _right there_. It would take no effort for him to pull her next to him and press his mouth to hers. Rickon subconsciously licked his lips. The spell broke, and Shireen cleared her throat.

“Your leg, then?” she asked, moving away to roll up his breeches and expose the wound. Rickon grit his teeth as Shireen prodded around the wound, feeling for how much his flesh would give. She moved over to dig in their pack, and she pulled out a needle and thread. With gloved hands, it took her a while to thread the needle, so she pulled off the gloves before she began to sew into his skin.

Rickon shoved his fist into his mouth and let out long, deep breaths as Shireen worked her way around the wound. Once Shireen tied off the thread, she held his leg down as she carefully placed a strip of fabric over the wound and tied it into place.

“I suppose now might be a good time to tell you that my ankle’s twisted,” Rickon said, turning onto his back to look at her again.

Instead of the dissent that he was sure she would have, she just huffed out a small breath of air before carefully removing his boot. Shireen felt around the bones, pressing into them gently. After a while, she took the last strip of fabric and wrapped it firmly around his ankle. Once she finished, she eased his foot back into the boot and sat back.

“Anything else?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

 _My heart_ , he thought, looking into her eyes and wishing that they were closer to him. He could get lost in her eyes forever. He pushed the thought away, shaking his head. “No.”

“Good,” she said, giving him a small smile and moving over to sit next to him. On the way, she brought their pack and his cloak. She pulled out the water skin and some salted meat. She threw the cloak over his legs and handed him the food. “Here.”

Rickon felt his stomach growl, and he took it eagerly. He drank deeply from the water skin until Shireen hit his arm.

“We don’t have any other water,” she told him. “Everything’s frozen up here.”

“Fill it with snow,” Rickon suggested. “Shaggy’s plenty warm to melt it.”

With a small shake of her head, she rolled her eyes at him, but she left outside to fill the water skin anyway. Shaggydog obediently followed after her, and shortly after, they came back together. The direwolf settled against a wall, and Shireen tucked the water skin under his head. Rickon nibbled slowly at the meat, and Shireen came to sit next to him once more.

“So we’re here for the night?” she asked, looking up at him.

Rickon had a hard time meeting her eyes when she was so close, but he made his best attempt. “Unless you have anywhere else to go.”

Shireen lightly elbowed his arm, leaning into him slightly, but she pulled away after. Rickon watched her smoothing out her skirts, finding miniscule folds to straighten out. She fumbled with the fabric a few times, and Rickon assumed it had something to do with the gloves on her hands. After a few minutes, she snuck a glance at him. Instead of looking away, he just met her gaze until her face flushed. She looked away. 

“So… are you tired?” she asked. She sounded reserved and slightly embarrassed.

“Not really,” Rickon admitted. “I’ve basically been asleep all day except for my walk over here. I can stay up and take a watch if you want to rest.”

“Oh… okay.” Shireen shuffled slightly next to him, but Rickon noticed that she didn’t move any closer to him.

Rickon watched her settled down with her arms crossed on her lap. After a few minutes, she stopped moving, except for the rise and fall of her chest. Rickon told himself to stop staring at her, but he had literally nothing else to do. She wasn’t even touching him, though. She definitely chose to stay away from him. Maybe he was reading too far into her actions. If anything, he was positive he was thinking about her way too much.

A few minutes later, she squirmed next to him. Rickon was half-hoping she would settle onto him, but she just slumped down a bit more.

“Rickon?” She was awake.

“Hm?”

“Who’s Osha?”

Rickon was slightly taken aback. He glanced down to see Shireen staring up at him. She was completely alert. Maybe she hadn’t been sleeping after all. She was looking at him expectantly, and her eyes were captivating. Rickon opened his mouth and closed it quickly. He couldn’t remember the question.

“I mean… who is she to you?” Shireen went on, finally looking away.

Oh. Osha. Rickon swallowed. He didn’t like talking about Osha. It hit way too close to home. Shireen probably deserved to know, though. “Oh,” he replied, organizing his thoughts. “She’s my mother.”

Shireen snapped her head around to look at him, full of curiosity. “Your…?”

“Er…” Rickon tried to figure out how to explain this. He furrowed his brow and focused on a spot near his foot. “My _mother_ , that is, my lady mother was gone. She left with Robb to help with the war. I didn’t have… Bran and I were alone, and Bran had to manage Winterfell. Osha… She’s a wildling, and she lived at Winterfell. When Theon took Winterfell for himself, Osha hid us in the crypts. After Winterfell was sacked, we split up. Bran went with Hodor and the Reeds beyond the Wall, and Osha took me to Skagos. She practically raised me… I was so young, and Shaggydog tolerated her. She was all I had. We kept each other safe.”

After a moment, Rickon looked back to Shireen. She was looking in his direction, but she wasn’t meeting his gaze. Rickon decided to go on. “Osha’s still on Skagos,” he said. His voice was a whisper. “She’s staying there until I can bring her back to Winterfell.”

“Rickon…” He looked back at her. Shireen’s eyes were brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Rickon said brusquely. “I just don’t usually talk about it.”

Shireen nodded, brushing away her tears. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, you don’t have to. I just thought Osha might have been…” She trailed off.

Rickon bit back a smile. Did she think he and Osha were _involved_? He swallowed and shrugged slightly. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I haven’t exactly told anyone before is all.”

“Do you want to?” Shireen asked. She leaned into his arm a bit, looking up at him.

“Do you want me to?” Rickon asked back, glancing at her.

Shireen fidgeted in her seat, settling closer to Rickon and wrapping an arm around his. She placed her ear on his shoulder. “Well, I have told you bedtime stories before,” she said, as if everything she was doing was completely natural. “I wouldn’t mind having one told to me.”

Rickon could feel his face burning. He was trying not to move his arm or shoulder. She was just _so close_ to him. If she wanted his warmth, she could be closer… Like on his lap, against his chest, with his arms wrapped around her, and his mouth pressed against hers… Rickon closed his eyes tight, trying to block the image from his brain. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Wait,” he said, trying to distract himself. “Who did you think Osha was?”

Rickon could see Shireen biting her lip. He bit his tongue to stop himself from thinking about that. “Well,” she said slowly. “I wouldn’t know how many ladies you’ve bedded and if you had a preference…”

A burst of laughter left Rickon’s mouth. Was she actually jealous? He tried to compose himself and stifle his laughter. “Is that how you think of me, princess?”

He saw Shireen’s face turn bright red. Her hands were twisting in her skirts. “I didn’t mean… I just thought that maybe…”

“None, for the record,” he said. Shireen looked up at him with knitted brows. Rickon wondered how she could possibly be jealous when he’s spent the last six days staring at her lips and fantasizing about kissing her. He looked back to her eyes and stopped himself from leaning into her. He could just incline his head and reach her so easily.

“None?” she asked. The expression slowly left her face. She moved back to her spot against his arm. 

Rickon caught a small smile lingering on her face. “Not really much time to bed ladies when half the realm is trying to kill you,” he said, getting comfortable next to her. “And not many ladies on Skagos anyway.”

“No one tried?” Shireen asked. He could still her smile.

“Oh, they tried,” he admitted, remembering the few ladies on Skagos who expressed interest in him. “Something about the allure of becoming a Stark.”

“What happened with them?”

“Shaggy bit one,” Rickon said shortly. “After that, no one ever tried to get close.”

He could feel Shireen shaking with laughter. “Shaggy’s nice, though.”

Rickon snorted. “To you.”

“Why is that?”

Rickon tried to shrug, but he stopped himself when he realized that he’d be hitting her head slightly. Shireen turned into him, pressing her nose against his arm. Rickon bit his tongue.

“Tell me a story, Rickon,” Shireen mumbled.

Biting back a protest, Rickon swallowed and began telling her the only story he knew: his. Shireen listened intently, moving about occasionally to let him know that she was still awake. A few times, she asked a question or made a comment, but for the most part she was silent. Her hands freely moved over her legs, drawing looping swirling patterns. Shireen’s right arm was still around his left, but she still made an effort to stroke her fingers into patterns. She even moved onto his leg periodically. Every time that happened, Rickon had to take a moment to reorganize his thoughts before continuing. Once he finished, she moved around a bit more before leaning into him, tightening her hold on his arm.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she muttered. Rickon could hear the haze of sleep in her voice.

“Me too,” he whispered back, as he felt her slip into a deep sleep. Looking over to Shaggydog, Rickon let out a low whistle. The direwolf immediately looked up. Shaggy would keep watch for tonight. Rickon pulled the cloak over to cover Shireen’s legs as well as his. Leaning his head back, Rickon let out a sigh and fell into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note: this story is probably not going to stay PG-13, so things might get spicy soon. If you want a warning to skip over anything, let me know and I'll make sure to mark them up for you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon gets patched up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was about to go to bed when I realized it was update day. It's a good thing I sleep around midnight.

When Rickon woke, there was still no light out. The cave he was in was dim and dull, and Rickon desperately needed to stretch. However, Shireen was still leaning against him, and he wouldn’t risk waking her. But being near her was extremely distracting. Her arms had gone slack in her sleep, and her hand was lying near his. In wouldn’t take much effort to stretch his hand slightly and to take hers.

Rickon tried to clear his thoughts. She was still a princess. She still had duties. _He_ still had duties. He couldn’t keep allowing his thoughts to imagine a future with Shireen. She was going to be far away, and he couldn’t have her. There were three weeks left that he could spend in relatively privacy with her. Surely, he could let himself get lost in her until then.

He looked over at her, watching her let out small puffs of air as she slept. The way she was pressed against him made it so that he could finally see her greyscale clearly. He wondered why she always kept it hidden. It definitely didn’t look that bad. Slowly, he reached out a hand to her face. He pulled away before he made contact. 

Tightening his resolve, Rickon reached out slowly, brushing his fingertips against the center of her greyscale. She didn’t seem to register the feeling at all. Rickon tried it again, focusing on the _feeling_ of her. It was firm, yes, but it wasn’t terrible. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, and his fingertips landed in her hair.

Rickon’s mouth stretched into a smile, and he let his fingers curl into her hair and run down her cheek again. Rickon slowly made his way around the edge of her greyscale, gingerly stroking the edge where it met her unblemished skin.

Rickon felt himself leaning into her when she started to wake. He let his hand drop out of her vision and bit the inside of his lip. Shireen slowly blinked, looking up at him. She leaned back onto his shoulder. In the small space, she stretched, and Rickon felt her fingers run across the inside of his hand.

“Is it morning?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Almost,” Rickon whispered back.

Shireen let out a small hum and pressed a hand against Rickon’s chest to push herself to her feet. Rickon winced, feeling the pressure on his wound, and Shireen jumped back quickly.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“It’s fine,” Rickon replied. He wiped a hand over the cut and felt a trickle of blood run down his stomach.

“Should I… do you want me to…?” Shireen struggled to find words.

“We should probably just head back to the Wall,” Rickon said, trying to stretch without reopening his wounds. He stopped himself when everything started to feel like it was ripping apart again.

“Oh okay.” Without being prompted, Shireen bustled about their small cave, packing up their belongings and placing the bag on her shoulder. She helped Rickon to his feet and placed his cloak over his shoulders before putting on her own.

They left the cave slowly, Shireen holding her hands out to him the entire time. Once they were outside, Shireen positioned Rickon between her and Shaggydog, making him lean onto one of them. They reached the Wall just as the sun was rising, and Shireen effectively removed every member of the Night’s Watch from their presence until they were back in his room. Then, she went to find supplies to bandage his wounds again.

Jon came back before she did. To Rickon’s surprise, he looked more concerned about him than anything. “Rickon!” he called, moving over to the bed. “What happened to you?”

“Shaggy found some…thing…” Rickon didn’t know how to describe it. “We were attacked. It’s a long story.”

“Attacked?” Jon questioned. “By what? Wildings?”

Rickon shook his head. “No… definitely not wildlings,” he said. “It was a giant… no, not a giant, but it was a big human-ish thing…”

Jon’s face fell. “How did you survive?”

“We almost didn’t,” Rickon admitted. “By the way, a small dagger isn’t exactly good at killing something with a massive ice-sword and that’s way taller than you.”

Jon winced. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s all we had. Did you manage to kill it?”

“I’m not sure. I kinda blacked out… I definitely hit it, though.” Rickon tried to remember the fight. He couldn’t recall much.

“That should be enough.” Jon let out a heavy sigh. “I’m glad you’re safe. But if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to stay on this side of the Wall. Especially if you’re stealing princesses with you.”

“I didn’t—”

“I forced him to take me,” Shireen said from the doorway. “It was my fault.”

Jon tripped over his feet, standing up quickly. “Princess!”

“Lord Commander,” she greeted, setting down her supplies and removing her cloak. Rickon noticed that she was wearing a different dress. “Can I help you?”

“I was just asking about your disappearance,” Jon said. “Among making other inquiries.”

“Such as?” Shireen asked, squaring her shoulders at Jon.

Jon seemed to be bracing himself. “Is he… Is Rickon your sworn shield?”

Shireen rolled her eyes, crossing the room without regard for Jon. “Rickon is a free man,” she said. “You should ask him yourself.”

Rickon felt himself grinning.

“I—” Jon stopped short. Rickon could tell that Jon wanted to yell at him to stop messing with the princess, but he still looked concerned about Rickon’s wounds. “I’ll just excuse myself… Princess, your room has been prepared if you want it.”

Jon left the room, shutting the door behind him. Shireen moved back to the table, organizing the supplies she collected. Once they were to her satisfaction, she stood in front of Shaggydog with her hands on her hips.

“Out, Shaggy,” she said. Her voice was extremely gentle. Shaggydog let out a whine at her.

Rickon chuckled. “He’s not going to leave,” he called. “You’re just going to make him sad.”

“He can’t stay here while I bandage you,” Shireen said. “What if you start bleeding again? He hasn’t hunted in a while.”

“Shaggy won’t attack me,” Rickon told her.

“He almost attacked you in my room that night,” Shireen pointed out.

Rickon rolled his eyes. “Because I was preventing him from feeding,” he explained. “Shaggy wouldn’t actually hurt me.”

“How do you know?” Shireen crossed her arms.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, he said, “Come here.” To his surprise, Shireen went to sit on the edge of his bed. Rickon grabbed one of her hands and gave it a light squeeze. “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

Shireen licked her lips, momentarily distracting Rickon. “Um, okay.”

Letting out a deep breath, Rickon rested against his pillows and slipped into Shaggydog. Shireen looked to him with concern, shaking his arm slightly. Padding over to Shireen, Rickon nudged her leg with Shaggy’s snout. Shireen froze.

“Rickon?” she called, reaching out to touch Shaggydog. Rickon pressed the snout into her hand. “That can’t be you…”

Rickon felt himself smile, unsure how it looked on the direwolf. He gently stepped onto the bed, placing Shaggy’s paw right beside her leg. Shireen turned marginally away from Shaggydog, shutting her eyes tight. Rickon moved right next to her cheek before letting Shaggydog softly lick at her greyscale. Shireen abruptly turned back to Shaggydog, staring the direwolf straight in the eyes. Slowly, she reached out for his head burying both hands into his fur before hugging him tightly. Rickon slipped back into his own body, sitting up.

Shireen carefully let go of Shaggydog before turning to him. Rickon reached out to push her hair behind her shoulder. When he looked back up, she was still staring at him. Shireen opened her mouth and shut it quickly. Rickon swallowed. Tentatively, Shireen stretched a hand out to him, stroking his cheek before letting her fingers fall into his messy curls. She hit a tangle and let out a small laugh.

“Maybe we should cut your hair,” she said, pulling her hand out and letting it fall to his shoulder before falling to the bed.

Rickon’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “We?” he questioned.

“Do you want to do it on your own?” she asked. Rickon was trying to memorize how her mouth formed letters.

“I don’t think I could manage that.”

“I can try, then,” she said. “After I tend to your wounds and get us some food.” 

Shireen went back to the table and moved some of the supplies onto his bed. Rickon watched her lean down to run her fingers through Shaggydog’s fur on her short walk, and he smiled at the sensation of seeing her pet Shaggydog and feeling it himself. When Shireen sat down on the bed, he pulled away from his thoughts and obediently rolled over to let her tend to his leg.

It took a much longer time for her to finish sewing up the deep gash this time. Again, Rickon shoved his fist into his mouth and withstood the pain without a sound. Shireen was so gentle, though, making sure to mop up any excess blood and keep her stitches small and even. Once she finished with his calf, she moved down to his ankle, realigning it and wrapping it up once more. Then, she moved to his chest.

Rickon felt the heat rushing to his face as she meticulously untied his shirts and pulled them off him completely. He tried to argue with her, but she gave him a sharp glare. Biting his tongue, he let her undress him from the waist up and patiently sat back as she tenderly prodded at his wound, removing the dressing and placing a clean bandage over him. She tied the knot over it slowly, trailing her fingers over his stomach before she stood up. She slowly gathered his ripped shirts and went to the door.

“Wait,” he called, sitting up further. She turned back to him slowly. “I need to… I mean, I should… Your hands, Shireen.”

She looked up at him, before dropping his clothes and returning to the bed. Rickon reached for her hands, taking care to remove the bandages slowly. He stared down at her hands as he worked, brushing the pads of his thumbs over her wounds before tying them up again. Her wounds were healing better than his, and he was glad that she would be better soon. Finishing up with her second hand, he looked back to her face without letting it go.

Shireen’s eyes fluttered closed as she let out a sigh. “You said my name.”

Rickon’s thumb brushed against her knuckles. “I thought it might be better than calling you ‘princess’ all the time,” he said.

He watched her carefully. She met his gaze again, and her lips parted slightly. Rickon moved into her slowly, inclining his head slightly. Licking his lips, he braced himself for the possibility of kissing her. Shireen pulled back slightly, shaking her head and standing up suddenly.

“I should go get you food,” she said quickly. “And put your clothes to wash…” She rushed out of the room, beckoning Shaggydog to follow her.

Rickon fell to his pillows and cursed inwardly. Of course she didn’t want him. Just because they shared a few moments together didn’t mean that she changed her opinion about him. Or that she even _had_ an opinion about him. He shouldn’t be forcing himself onto her anyway. Regardless of how much he didn’t want to call her ‘princess,’ it didn’t change the fact that she still was one. She did take Shaggydog, though. And now she knew that he and Shaggydog were connected. Maybe she wasn’t completely rejecting him. Or maybe she wanted protection from the men of the Night’s Watch. But maybe she actually liked him as much as he liked her. And maybe he liked her more than he thought…

Rickon wanted to scream into his pillow. Why was this so complicated? Why did she make him feel so stupid? Why did he suddenly want to make every aspect of his life about her? Rickon threw his arms over his face, biting at the inside of his lip. She was a princess, goddammit, and he was _fucked_. He was incredibly lost in her, and he was chasing after a lady that he had _no chance_ with. The sooner he realized that, the sooner he could get over it. Clinging to her wasn’t doing him any good. 

They were going to leave the Wall. They were going to Winterfell. He would go to meet Stannis.

And he would never see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short (or at least it feels short to me), but they next two (I think) should be fairly lengthy.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon gets a haircut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing chapter summaries reminds me of reading episode summaries, but in the most bland way possible. No spoilers, though.

Rickon and Shireen spent the next week in each other’s company. Shireen spent one night in his room, but when he continued to insist that he sleep on the floor, she returned to her rooms under the premise of giving him more time to heal. During the day, they continued reading and writing. Sometimes, Shireen would bring up his past again, asking questions about certain parts of it. Rickon gradually became more comfortable with her questions, answering them without as many complaints. Although, he had to admit that he was slightly taken aback when she showed up to his room brandishing a knife.

“Ready?” Shireen asked.

Rickon frowned, taking a small step away. “For what?”

Shireen looked around briefly. “A haircut?” she said. Without waiting for a response, she pulled a chair to the center of his room and gestured to it. Rickon slumped into the seat, mentally preparing himself for accidental pricks and cuts. Shireen started running her fingers through his curls. She giggled. “Have you _ever_ combed your hair?”

Rickon snorted. “No.”

Laughing, Shireen dug her fingers into his scalp, tugging at the knots in his hair and combing them out with her fingers. Rickon clenched his hands around the seat of the chair, trying to distract himself from the feeling of her fingers in his hair. She pulled at the knots meticulously, finding each one and separating it. Rickon bit his tongue to prevent any small noises from leaving his mouth. Shireen circled him to start working through the front of his hair when she finally took pause.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked, eyeing his hands and looking him in the face.

Blinking up at her, Rickon carefully met her gaze. He allowed himself a moment to stare into her bright blue eyes before he quickly released his grip. “No, I’m fine,” he said much too fast. “I’m perfectly okay.”

Shireen gave him a skeptical look and slowly reached for his hair again. Rickon slid his hands back to the chair, testing his grip on the wood. Lightly, Shireen gently started to work through the knots, and Rickon gripped the chair again. “There,” Shireen said. She leaned forward slightly to point at his hands. “You’re doing that again. Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

Rickon bit down on his lip, bending his head down to look away. He put his hands back on his lap, twisting his fingers together. He looked up in attempt to meet her gaze, but he felt himself falter. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

He could feel Shireen continuing to stare at him, but she still went back to combing through his hair. Unfortunately, this made her even closer, and Rickon was nearly at eye-level with her chest. He decided that focusing on what her hands were doing was better and immediately regretted his decision when she ran her nails lightly against his scalp. Rickon felt a moan threatening to escape his lips, and he desperately wanted to lean into her touch. He glanced up and found her smiling, even though she wasn’t looking at him. Rickon’s jaw dropped at the new picture of her that was burning into his mind.

“Alright,” she said, pulling away to retrieve her knife. Rickon took that time to close his mouth and try to swallow. “Shall we begin?”

Shireen began to slowly slice off chunks of his hair, starting with the curls that fell in front of his eyes and moving around. Several times, he felt her loop a finger through one of his curls before cutting it off. Shireen began humming to herself as she worked. Occasionally, she wiped off his shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair again. Rickon squirmed about, trying to settle with her so close to him, but every time he did Shireen would tell him to straighten up and sit still.

After a time so long Rickon had stopped keeping track, Shireen stepped away. She ruffled some of the hair on top of his head. “Done,” she said proudly. “Do you like it?”

“Um.” Rickon ran his hands through his newly shorn hair. He shook his head roughly, similar to the way Shaggydog does when he’s wet. He was surprised by the new weight on his neck, unused to the light load. When he looked up, Shireen was giggling at him. “Well, I can’t really see it,” he said. “But then again, I don’t exactly have to be looking at it.”

Shireen let out a small laugh, extending a hand to run it through his hair. Rickon felt himself leaning into her touch, thinking that this is another boundary they’ve broken. She pulled away, though, with some talk of fetching a broom. Unsurprisingly, he felt Shaggydog at her side moments later, and Rickon left the chair to go back to his bed.

With Shireen gone, he checked on his wounds, making sure that they were healing properly and that he’d be able to run soon. His calf still felt weak from lack of use, and there were still stitches in his leg, but he felt that he’d be back to normal soon. His ankle and chest had healed a few days ago, and Rickon recalled how Shireen had tended to him. He let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the wall and waiting for Shireen to return.

A minute later, she was back in the room, sweeping up the scattered ends of his hair that she’d just removed. Rickon watched her work, happy just to be looking at her as she moved around Shaggydog and cleaned up the floor. She left again to discard the mess, and Rickon tried to gather his thoughts, closing his eyes to help his focus. When he opened them again, Shireen was right in front of him. Her eyes were shining with her smile. Rickon jumped back, trying to put some distance between them before he lost his self-control.

“Well, do you want to see it?” Shireen asked. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

Rickon glanced down and saw that she was leaning onto his bed. He forced his gaze back to her eyes to prevent any extra attention he might have paid the collar of her dress. Rickon forced himself to swallow and said, “Yeah, sure.”

Shaking her head slightly, Shireen grabbed his hand and led him down two doors to the room that was cluttered with boxes. She sat him on the small bed and began rummaging through one of the boxes. Rickon looked around the room, easily spotting which boxes had been reorganized and filled properly.

“I haven’t bothered with most of my mother’s things,” Shireen said flippantly, continuing her search. “I figured that my father’s men would prefer to travel quickly, and we can’t be carrying too many things in excess.” She pulled out a small mirror and held it out to Rickon.

He took it from her and spared himself the briefest of glances before remembering that _she_ had cut his hair and put effort into how he would look. He tried to give himself an appraisal, but found that he only really wanted to impress her. “Do you like it?” he asked finally.

Shireen laughed, taking the mirror back and shoving it into a box. “I think that it suits you,” she said. “It’s still wild, but a bit more… _tame_ than before.”

“I really am turning into Shaggy, aren’t I?” he asked, smirking at her.

“In what ways, Lord Stark?” Shireen asked back, returning to the boxes and rearranging some items again.

“Not in being lord, princess,” he said. “In being tame.”

“I suppose even the wildest beasts can be tamed under the right thumb,” Shireen mused, hefting a box and moving it across the room.

“Yours?” Rickon questioned, knowing that it was true. “Would that be your right or your left?”

Shireen laughed at that, moving back across the room and running a hand through his hair again.

“Am I also something to be pet, princess?” Rickon asked.

“I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off. Shireen had her back to him near the door and Rickon was tempted to go wrap his arms around her. “I just… It feels nice…”

Rickon definitely knew the feeling, but he wasn’t going to agree when he had no reason to be touching her hair in the first place. “Well, you’re welcome to touch it if you’d like,” Rickon muttered.

Shireen turned to him slowly, and he felt heat rising to his face. Surely he hadn’t just suggested that she do anything that intimate with him. Quickly, he stood up and went to the door, pausing before turning the handle. He knew very well that Shireen was staring at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “I’ll just… leave you to your packing, princess… Shireen…”

He left the room then, not bothering to return to his own. Instead he wandered Castle Black, into the now empty Queen’s Tower to see what had become of Shireen’s old rooms. The large featherbed was in the corner of her room, stripped of the sheets, and Rickon could still see the shadow of the bloodstain on the floor.

All at once, Rickon was glad to be leaving the Wall, if not for his looming departure from Shireen, then for her safety. At least she would have a guard again, and she would be far from the wildling woman who wanted her dead. Rickon wandered to the window, looking down on the rest of Castle Black.

“Looking for your princess? I’m afraid they’ve moved her, Lord Stark.”

Steeling himself, Rickon turned to face the wildling woman. He bit back his comments and stared Val in the eyes. Sure, she was pretty but she didn’t have much else going for her, in his opinion. She was too bitter, too demanding, too stuck in the old ways of the land beyond the Wall.

“Or looking for a queen, perhaps?” Val went on, walking closer to him. 

Rickon left his expression blank as she approached. There was no way he’d allow his resolve to waver here.

“I would make a mighty fine queen,” she said, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I’m quite good at giving men pleasure, milord.”

Biting down a gag, Rickon stepped around the wildling woman and made for the door.

“All quiet now, Stark?” she asked, stepping back to him and grabbing one of his wrists. “I could be great for Winterfell. I was made to be a queen.”

Rickon quickly drew his dagger and pressed the tip to her throat, causing her to stagger back a few paces. “Come near Winterfell, and I’ll slice your head off myself,” Rickon growled out. “You’re under the Night’s Watch for now, but once you overstep, I will not hesitate to kill you.” 

He watched her swallow and take another step away before he turned to leave the room. Immediately, he thought to go to Shireen and insist that she stay in his room tonight. Val knew they would leave soon, and he knew that she wasn’t like to waste her last opportunity to kill Shireen. Perhaps, he should tell Jon, too. But they still had three weeks left by his count. He and Jon couldn’t guard her every moment for the remainder of their stay. 

Inwardly, Rickon sought Shaggydog and found him near Shireen’s side. Rickon sighed in relief. Shaggydog would protect her. Shaggydog wouldn’t let anyone harm her. Rickon knew that Shaggydog only left Shireen’s side to hunt, and he’d only do so if Rickon was with Shireen. The direwolf would be her guard, then. He’d keep a watch during the time he could spare, but he needn’t worry her.

Rickon slept peacefully the next few days, but he did so in the early mornings and in the evenings rather than at nights. Shireen seemed to think that he was just sleeping more, trying to wake him to read or write. Rickon didn’t dare tell her about Val, but he kept making sure Shireen had his knife. He even made Shireen repeat her small knife lessons, which she did with a confused expression. Rickon knew she suspected, but he refused to let her be ill-prepared. After all, he didn’t know how many men Val would send next.

Keeping watch over Shireen wasn’t nearly as bad as Rickon thought. It allowed him a proper excuse to spend time with her, even though he didn’t tell her his reasoning. Instead, he just accompanied her while she finished her packing, even though she demanded he read to her if he was just going to sit there. A few times, he fell asleep while reading and woke with her blankets over him. After that, Rickon tried to start up conversations instead, hoping they would keep him alert.

Shireen, however, had other plans. She seemed to think that since they’d be at Winterfell soon, Rickon needed to review his lordly duties. Asking him questions, Shireen expected him to remember how to properly run a castle and be Warden of the North. She also had him go over his kingly duties in case he decided to separate the North from the Iron Throne.

“Will you secede?” she asked.

“Separate from the Iron Throne?” Rickon asked back. When Shireen nodded in return, he shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. I didn’t really care for a long time anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Shireen asked. She was folding up some of her dresses today.

Rickon thought through it. In truth, he didn’t want to know that he had willingly separated himself from Shireen, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “We might need help rebuilding,” he said at last. “Winterfell was in ruins last I saw it, and if the Boltons are attacking, they probably have alliances. I don’t know what support Winterfell will have.”

Shireen stayed silent for a moment, tucking a stack of fabric away. “The North will rally toward a Stark,” she said quietly. “Particularly if one arrives with a direwolf at his side. I suppose a marriage could also do you well.”

Marriage was something Rickon hadn’t given much thought to. He was aware that he would need to eventually, but he wasn’t keen on the idea. He looked over to Shireen who was staring back at him. Rickon thought that he knew who he’d like to marry, but that she’d be forever out of his reach.

“I’ll be a bit busy for marriage,” Rickon said, realizing that she was waiting for his response. “Winterfell needs to be built first, and I expect there won’t be many people there to begin with. It’s not much to make a claim on.”

Shireen blinked at him, not averting her gaze. “Will you?”

Rickon thought that he heard an underlying question there. He didn’t know what to make of her: this princess with her familiarity to a wild lord. Rickon swallowed, trying to find the right answer. “If I’ve no other place to be.”

They continued to look at each other for another minute, neither of them breaking the eye contact. Then, Shireen closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “I suppose it’s nearly time for bed,” she said. “Are you taking Shaggydog? He hasn’t been hunting in a while.”

“He hasn’t?” Rickon looked over to the direwolf. Shaggydog was dozing off in a corner of the room. Rickon had assumed he had been hunting earlier, but Shireen kept better tabs on him than he did. Rickon called to the direwolf. “Up, Shaggy.” 

The massive, black beast slowly got to his feet, circling the room. Rickon quickly searched through Shaggydog’s mind, trying to pinpoint whether Shaggydog was thinking about hunting. Sure enough, he seemed to be trying to pick up scents already. Rickon swore inwardly, sending Shaggydog out to hunt. Shireen was laughing, unaware of the danger this caused. 

“Will you be off to your room, then?” she asked, sitting next to him on the bed.

Rickon watched her carefully remove her gloves and pick at the sleeves of her dress. He tried to think of a reason he could stay longer without making any sort of implications. “I was hoping that I might be able to go over how keeps are run again,” he said slowly. “And reasons for sending out ravens.”

“We’re just gone over that, Rickon,” Shireen replied. “And you haven’t answered incorrectly yet. Do you doubt your abilities to rule? You’ll make a fine king, I’m sure.”

“I just… I just don’t want to mess it up,” Rickon said. He was telling the truth. He was afraid to rule, to have so much power. Admitting it to Shireen wasn’t the worst, he decided. “There’s so much that could go wrong.”

Shireen placed a hand on his leg. “Nothing will go wrong,” she said. “You have learned so much in the past few months, and you’re far more prepared than you think.”

Rickon took a deep breath and Shireen began to gently rub her hand against his leg. _Now,_ Rickon thought. _I could kiss her right now._ Still something was pulling at the back of his mind. Something about propriety and honor and maidens and how he didn’t deserve her. Rickon stood quickly. He didn’t want to leave – not when she was so close. But he didn’t know how he could keep himself sane if he stayed. 

Without a word, Rickon left the room, returning to his own. He aimed a kick at the far wall, cursing himself for getting so flustered around her. He was completely ruined, thoroughly torn apart by mere thoughts of this woman that he could never have. Rickon had yet to find a way to rid her from his thoughts, especially since he really didn’t want to. Flinging himself onto the bed, Rickon considered tearing his pillow apart.

He allowed his thoughts to settle and he rolled onto his back before he remembered that he needed to keep an eye on her tonight. Rickon considered sitting outside her door all night, but quickly decided against it. He had good ears. He’d be able to hear if anything happened, surely.

Rickon settled by his door with his sword lying across his knees. After rushing outside for creaking wood seven times, he decided to sit further from the door, dragging a chair over and leaning against the wall. Rickon was beginning to nod off when he heard a door slam, and he jumped to his feet and ran out the door.

As expected, the door to Shireen’s room was open, and he heard a scream. Entering quickly, Rickon realized he forgot his sword and drew his dagger instead. Shireen had slid into the far corner of her bed, curling her legs up in front of her. Leaning over the bed was the wildling woman, holding a blade to Shireen’s throat. She had a wrist pinned to the bed and was speaking to her in a sharp whisper.

Careful not to make any noise, Rickon approached the wildling woman from behind. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pressing his own dagger to her neck. He felt Val relax slightly.

“Here to protect your monster?” she spat out.

Rickon quickly snatched at her wrist with the blade, being sure to pull it away from Shireen. He felt a bubble of anger threatening to burst in his stomach, and it took everything in him to keep it down. With a burst of energy, Val attempted to break free from Rickon’s grasp. He gave her just enough space to move, so he could properly disarm her. Twisting her arms behind her back, Rickon pressed the dagger to her neck again.

“Rope,” he snapped out.

Val scoffed, but the word brought Shireen to her feet. She quickly retrieved a length of rope. Rickon traded that with his dagger and bound Val’s wrists tightly behind her back. With more force than was necessary, he pushed the wildling outside and led her to Jon’s chambers. He threw her against the door, and it was opened moments later.

Jon looked tired and completely worn out. Still, he sobered up quickly when he saw who was there. Straightening up, Jon cleared his throat. “Rickon, you—”

Rickon cut him off. “If I see her again,” he said, letting his voice gain strength, “ _I will kill her._ ”

Nodding in agreement, Jon slowly extended a hand toward Val. Rickon shoved her roughly toward the door and spun around.

“Rickon!” Jon called. Rickon took a breath to steady himself. “Your knife.”

At that, Rickon turned to face the wildling, finding a blade nearly hilt-deep in her right shoulder. He took three steps until he was face to face with Val and stared her straight in the eyes while he yanked the blade from her shoulder. Without breaking eye contact, he cleaned the blade off on her clothes, being sure to rip them as much as possible in the process. Gripping the knife tightly, Rickon turned and headed back to his room.

Halfway there, he saw a few spots of blood on the floor, and he hoped they were from the wildling. Still, he followed the trail back to Shireen’s room. He found her trembling over a box, rummaging through its contents with one hand. He was one step through the door when he heard her let out a sob. Rickon rushed over to her, turning her by the shoulder to search her for wounds.

Shireen was holding a hand to her neck and her fingers were covered in blood. She was breathing hard, and her cheeks were stained with her tears. She was stammering out something, but Rickon shushed her. He pulled off his tunic and folded a length of it to press to her neck, prying away her hand as gently as he could. He wiped her bloodied hand on the remainder of his shirt, and she fell to her knees. Rickon moved with her, keeping pressure on her neck. Shireen seemed to be crying, but she wasn’t making any noise. Pulling her close, he pressed her head against his shoulder and wound his other arm around her body, trying to find a way to hook under her legs. When his grip was solid enough, he picked her up and carried her back to his room.

Placing Shireen gently on his bed, he took one of her hands and tried to have her hold her wound while he located a proper dressing for it. She hiccoughed but managed to hold onto her neck once more. Rickon quickly found the remaining dressings in his room and grabbed a water skin before hurrying back to his bed. As soon as he sat next to her, she moved to him, pressing her face into his shoulder and curling her legs over his lap.

Rickon moved her slowly, carefully removing his shirt and checking to see what damage had been done. There was a long cut where the base of her neck met her shoulder, but it wasn’t deep and was no longer bleeding. Wrapping his arms around her to work, Rickon used a scrap end of his tunic and soaked it in water before cleaning the skin around the cut. Once it was clear of blood, he placed a clean dressing on it and loosely tied it in place. 

He held Shireen against his chest for a moment longer before moving her back to the bed and laying her down. Shireen let out a small sob when he moved away, so Rickon laid himself out next to her. Immediately, Shireen moved next to his chest, curling into him. With soft touches, Rickon moved her hair away from her face before softly laying a hand over her cut.

Shireen looked up hesitantly. Her expression was guarded. “Am I a monster?” she whispered. “Does it make me bad?”

Rickon did his best to give her a smile. “Not at all,” he replied. “She’s the monster, and you did well with the knife. She deserved it. But you… _You_ are a princess – a beautiful, lovely princess.”

Shireen rolled her eyes. “That’s not true,” she mumbled, leaning back down and hiding her face from him.

His other arm was trapped under her neck, but Rickon moved as close as he could to reach up for face, aiming for the greyscale. Shireen recoiled from the touch, pressing further into the mattress. Rickon settled for brushing his fingers through her hair instead. He continued to stroke her hair until her body went limp with sleep. Then, Rickon allowed himself to brush her greyscale.

“Yes,” he whispered to the dark room. “It is true.” Rickon pulled Shireen as close as he dared, keeping a hand over her cut. Before he could stop himself, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, brushing his nose against her hair. Shireen stirred slightly in his arms, moving even closer to him before falling into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is crazy long (like, double my usual), but splitting it made it feel way too short. And this way, things are gonna be happening sooner! (Not word-count-wise, but chapter-wise...)  
> Let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon ascends the Wall with Shireen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the rating for a reason. This is the reason. (No spoilers.)

The next week was a tenuous time for Rickon. Shireen constantly wavered around him, sometimes moving close to him or suddenly walking away. Rickon quickly found that he never knew how to properly react in these situations. Her behavior was far more erratic than he knew how to handle, and every time she left, he could feel her curling up next to Shaggydog. Didn’t she remember that he was connected to Shaggydog? Did she realize the she was basically sleeping next to him when she did that? Was she doing it on purpose?

A large part of Rickon wanted to confront her about it and figure out what was going on, especially since they didn’t have much more time together. By Rickon’s count, he only had two days more at Castle Black with Shireen, and he really wanted to figure out whatever she was causing to happen in his stomach.

Shireen, however, deflected most of the conversations before they could happen. She usually did so by correcting his grammar and insisting that he write out what he was saying so he could see the mistake. Rickon complied every time, knowing that if he tried to turn the conversation back, she was most likely to flee the room.

Rickon tried to stay level-headed while he was around Shireen, but he found it harder to keep his distance. It was even harder for him to stop himself from touching her, especially since he knew how soft her hair was. He had become so accustomed to her flighty behavior that he was surprised when she pranced straight up to him on the walk between their rooms.

“Rickon!” she called. She stopped less than a foot from him. Her hands were hidden behind her back and she was rocking on her feet. When she looked up at him, Rickon saw conflicting emotions on her face. “There’s news.”

Running a hand through his hair, Rickon tried to formulate a proper response. While he was trying to figure out what to do, Shireen turned him around and pushed him back to his room. Rickon went willingly and took a seat at the chair.

“First, a present,” Shireen said, closing the door behind her. She pulled out a small book. Shireen gave him an encouraging smile and held it out further.

Rickon carefully took the book from her, biting back his question about what it was. Instead, he opened it to the front page and read to himself, _“The Sack of Winterfell as told by Rickon Stark.”_

Biting his lip, Rickon flipped through a few pages, reading snippets of her handwriting. He felt himself smiling as he found Osha’s name in several places along with his own, Shaggydog, Summer, Bran, Hodor, Jojen, and Meera. Without bothering to read it, he flipped back to the front. “You forgot something,” he said, standing and quickly locating a quill and ink.

Shireen gave him a skeptical look, but Rickon continued adding his sloppier penmanship to the title page. He held out the book to her that now read, ‘as written by Shireen Baratheon.’ Shireen gave him a smile, and Rickon placed the book on the table before pulling her into a tight hug. He felt Shireen’s arms slowly circle his back, and he leaned down and whispered, “Thank you.”

As they pulled apart, Rickon pressed a quick kiss to her greyscale, knowing that she wouldn’t quite feel it. Still, Shireen was blushing when they separated, and Rickon felt a spark of hope for their next couple days together. Shireen slowly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and took a sudden interest in the floor.

“You said ‘first’,” Rickon recalled. He dipped his head slightly to try and catch her eyes. “Was there something else?”

“Oh.” Shireen looked up and stared at a point near his shoulder. “Men of the Night’s Watch have spotted my father’s men. They should be here by morning, so I was going to ascend the Wall tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Rickon felt his heart skip, and he felt like someone had hit him on the head. He tried to meet Shireen’s gaze, but she was pointedly looking away. Rickon felt like she’d just pulled the floor from beneath his feet. He wanted to go to her, spill his heart to her, and just be with her while they were still alone. Maybe that was what she was offering on the Wall. Maybe there was still hope. “Of course I’ll accompany you,” he said. He noticed that his voice was shaking. He tried to steady his nerves. “I’d be happy to.”

Shireen smiled at the floor. “I’d appreciate that,” she mumbled. “Though, I need to reorganize my things if we’re to depart soon. I’ll see you in a few hours, Rickon.”

She left the room quickly, never once meeting his gaze. Rickon felt the urge to run after her, to claim her as long as he still had the opportunity. Their time was ending… Over, almost, and he still didn’t know how to act around her. He felt Shireen leaning against Shaggydog, running her hands through his fur. Rickon felt the urge to slip into Shaggydog and try to comfort her somehow. He felt useless. Useless to act on his wishes, useless as a lord… He didn’t have it in him to be king.

Rickon couldn’t be in his room anymore. He searched through Castle Black until he found Jon and waited impatiently until Jon looked like he wasn’t busy. Then, he walked up to him. “Jon,” Rickon said. He tried to swallow his instincts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jon looked confused for a moment before he snapped back to attention. “The guard, you mean?” he clarified. “I told the princess, and she asked to tell you herself. I didn’t realize you’d be upset about it.”

“I’m not—” Rickon stopped himself and decided to take a different route. “What if I can’t rule Winterfell?”

With a small smile, Jon placed a hand on Rickon’s shoulder. “The princess assures me that you are prepared,” Jon said. “She said you’ve reviewed your duties in your studies and that you’ve nearly mastered both reading and writing. You’ll be fine, Rickon.”

Rickon didn’t want to tell Jon that that wasn’t what he was actually worried about. He couldn’t confide his fears in Jon, particularly when they concerned women and especially when they concerned the princess. Rickon’s fingers were fidgeting and he tried to find a way to hold them comfortably.

Jon misinterpreted Rickon’s movements. “Winterfell is yours by right,” he said. “Whether you decide to be king or lord, your bannermen will follow your rule.”

Biting his tongue, Rickon nodded in return and Jon pulled him into a hug. Rickon found himself hugging Jon back.

“You’re a good man, Rickon,” Jon said. “And you’re a good brother – to Bran and to me. You’ll make a fine leader.”

Rickon swallowed down a lump that formed in his throat. “Thanks, Jon,” he said, pulling out of the hug. “I will do my best.”

“That’s all we expect,” Jon replied. He gave Rickon a smile and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll do well. I’ll be sure to see you off.”

Rickon accepted another small hug from Jon before Jon went to return to his duties. With small steps, Rickon sought out Ghost. He found the direwolf blended almost perfectly into the snow in front of Jon’s chambers. Ghost stared at Rickon with his red eyes, but paid him no mind when Rickon reached for his snout. Being near the calm direwolf did wonders for Rickon’s mind. Ghost was completely serene and silent – everything that Shaggydog wasn’t – and Rickon needed that peace of mind. Leaning against a nearby post, Rickon settled into Shaggydog mind, finding him tense as he watched Shireen shuffle her belongings around. Rickon fell out of Shaggydog and looked back at Ghost. The direwolf simply stared back in return.

After several minutes, Rickon went back to his rooms and put his belongings together into two packs. He carefully placed Shireen’s book at the bottom of a pack and shoved his clean clothes in over it, placing food and his waterskin on top. Everything else could be shoved into the other bag.

Once he was packed, Rickon ran out of ways to busy himself until the trip up the Wall. He knew that he wanted to go see Shireen again, but he wasn’t sure he had the self-control to stop anything he might want to do. With a groan, Rickon threw himself to his bed slumping back against his pillows. Rickon allowed himself to doze off until time came to find Shireen again.

Shireen found him first. He woke to her gently nudging his shoulder. Blinking away the fog of sleep, Rickon sat up slowly.

“Do you still want to come up the Wall?” Shireen asked, smiling at him.

If only she knew the things he’d do to see that smile. “Of course, princess,” Rickon replied. He sat up to pull on his boots and locate a cloak. Shireen held it out to him. “Thank you—”

“Shireen,” she said pointedly. “It is my name.”

“As you wish, Shireen,” he replied, pulling the cloak around his shoulders. Rickon considered putting on his gloves, but he decided against it. They weren’t likely to be up for long. He turned back to Shireen. “Ready?”

Shireen nodded, and he offered her his arm. Hesitantly, she took his arm and walked by his side to the lift up the Wall. Rickon opened the carriage for her and signaled to a member of the Night’s Watch to send them up. Shireen clutched onto his arm tighter as they ascended, and Rickon moved them to the center of the lift. Slowly but surely, they made it to the top of the Wall. Stepping out first, Rickon took Shireen’s hand and led her onto the Wall.

In the low light of the setting sun, Shireen stepped out slowly. She looked around everywhere and walked to the ledge separating them from their fall. Rickon glanced away from her briefly as a few men of the Night’s Watch descended on the lift. Exchanging shifts. They were alone for the next few moments. Shireen paid them no mind, as she wandered down the length of the Wall, looking out toward the North and comparing it to the land beyond the Wall.

“There’s so much,” she mumbled.

Rickon went to stand next to her. He leaned over the edge until Shireen pulled him back. When she turned to him, she was still looking out toward the north in short glances.

“It’s yours,” she said. “You will rule all of this.”

“My dream come true,” Rickon said, rolling his eyes. “Rickon Stark – lord of the snow.”

Shireen let out a small laugh, turning to face him. “Not king?” she asked.

“Not king,” Rickon agreed. “It’s your land, Shireen. I will watch the snow for you.”

“You’d be a great king,” Shireen mumbled.

“You’d be a better queen.”

“It is yours, though,” Shireen insisted.

“No,” Rickon replied. “I’ll not take it from you.”

“But it’s yours to take,” Shireen said. Her voice was firm. “The North will support you. You can take whatever you want.”

Rickon closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “No, I can’t.”

“What do you want?” Shireen asked.

Rickon looked to her. She had moved closer while he wasn’t looking, and she was nearly pressed up against him. Swallowing his better judgement, Rickon inclined his head toward hers. He would kiss her, if she’d let him. Rickon tried to press his lips to hers, but she stepped away.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice was a whisper, almost swept away with the wind.

“I want to kiss you,” Rickon said, looking up to her eyes.

Her cheeks flushed a bright red. “Oh, Rickon,” she muttered. “You don’t… I’m not… There are other ladies… beautiful ladies… They would have you…”

Rickon reached out for her hand, squeezing it between his. “I want _you_ , Shireen.”

Shireen shook her head furiously. “You’ve known very few ladies,” she said firmly. “I’m not… _ideal_ at all.”

Just as she stopped talking, the lift returned with some men of the Night’s Watch. Shireen hurried to the lift to take it back down, and Rickon followed her in. She was leaning onto one of the edges, facing away from the rest of the lift and Rickon. He tried to settle on the other side of the lift, but he couldn’t push Shireen’s words out of his mind. They were muddling his thoughts, making him angry at the implications.

“I don’t want another lady,” he stated loudly. “You… are _beautiful,_ Shireen.”

Rickon didn’t want to see her reaction. He expected that she would wave his statement off or tell him otherwise, and he didn’t want to hear it anymore. He wouldn’t accept it. Still, his curiosity got the better of him, and he snuck a look back to Shireen. She was walking toward him. He turned slightly, expecting her to hit him for insisting. Shireen paused right in front of him. Rickon steeled himself, meeting her gaze. He felt himself melt under her watch and tried to follow her eyes that were searching his face. She let out a huff of air. Rickon braced himself. She placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly and pressing her mouth to his.

Rickon gasped against her mouth, automatically returning the kiss. He wrapped an arm against her back and let the other fly into her hair. Shireen sighed against his lips, and Rickon gently moved his tongue against her lower lip. She seemed to close off from him, so Rickon changed course, simply moving his lips against hers. He tried to be gentle with her, but he found himself rushing through the kiss, wanting to be closer to her. Shireen wrapped an arm around his neck and she tentatively pressed her tongue into his mouth. Rickon stilled enough to let her explore, and he resisted his urge to deepen their kiss.

The lift hit a bump, lurching to one side. Rickon instinctively held tighter onto Shireen, but she broke away from him. Shireen’s head was bent down, and Rickon reached out to tilt it back toward him. At the slightest touch to her greyscale, she stepped away entirely.

“Um… that’s not…” Shireen turned from him, keeping her head down. 

“Shireen, I—” Rickon tried to find the words to articulate what he wanted to say. He didn’t know how to properly tell her what he was feeling – what she made him feel. He was grasping at ends, trying to think of something – _anything_ – that would bring her back. Rickon watched as Shireen separated from him again, moving to the far end of the lift and putting her hood on. Her movements were steadied, but they looked too practiced, almost forced. Rickon reconciled himself to the fact that she just didn’t think of him the same way.

When the lift finally touched down, Rickon waited to let Shireen exit first. Then, he followed her at a safe distance back to their rooms. He hoped that she would go with him to his room, but she went straight to hers. She never looked back at him. She only shut the door behind her.

Rickon entered his room feeling thoroughly beat. If she didn’t like him for true – _if she didn’t_ truly _like him,_ he corrected himself – then he would accept that. He could survive a ride simply watching over her until she departed with her father. He would ensure her safety. Hell, he would go to King’s Landing with her if only to keep her safe. But it’d be just that: keeping her safe. He’d have no other part in her life. Her marriage would always be to someone else. He would be lost to her for all intents and purposes.

Pulling off his boots, Rickon made his way to the bed before remembering that he’d need to strip for the night. With a heavy sigh, he did so in front of his bed, tossing the excess clothing onto the mattress and trying to control his urge to run to her room anyway.

She could give him a clear answer. Shireen hadn’t explicitly denied him. But she turned away. Surely, she’d have stayed with him if she wanted to. Unless she was holding onto propriety... She _was_ a maiden after all. Rickon swore at himself and bundled up the clothing on his bed. He couldn’t do anything. Regardless of his feelings, any decision he made regarding her should be cleared with her first. She was to be queen, after all. Rickon turned to throw his clothes onto the table and found Shireen standing in front of his door. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her come in.

“I wanted to apologize,” she mumbled out. She looked like she was going to say something else, but Rickon wouldn’t have it. If she was going to kiss him, then he would kiss her, too.

The clothes in his hands fell to the floor. Crossing the room in three steps, Rickon took her face in his hands and pressed a chaste kiss with all the passion he could muster against her lips. He could feel her greyscale pressing against his right palm and on the edge of his mouth. It was rough but so incredibly _her_. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and he relished in the intimacy that gave him that sensation. Rickon wanted the kiss to last for the remainder of his life, but he was being selfish. He pulled away after a moment to see a red flush on her face.

“I needed to do that,” he said, licking his lips. He ran his thumbs over her cheekbones before he released her face and took a small step away. “At least once… You were saying?”

Shireen blinked up at him. Her chest rose with a deep breath and she slowly raised a hand to her greyscale. Her fingers were the lightest flurry over the ridges. Rickon watched her eyelashes flutter closed before she looked up at him. Shireen had a different sort of resolve about her now. “Does it not bother you?” she asked.

Rickon gave her a smile before deliberately leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her mottled cheek. He rested his lips there for several seconds before pulling away. “Not in the slightest.”

Settling back against the table, Rickon watched as Shireen carefully pressed a hand to her greyscale. She was looking at him with disbelief written clear on her face. Shireen looked away again. She seemed to be looking at everything in his room except for him, so Rickon took the time to look at her. Her dress was different, but he couldn’t figure out how. She also appeared to be barefoot, and Rickon had a desire to warm her up, knowing that she’d be cold soon. Rickon let himself look over every inch of her body, drinking in the sight of her. When he got back to her face, she was looking at him with the same intensity as before.

“It doesn’t bother you,” Shireen said at last, taking a small step toward him.

“No.”

Another step forward.

Her eyes were shining bright with a challenge. “Do it again.”

Rickon licked his lips slowly, watching Shireen’s neck work with a swallow before he leaned forward. He reached a hand up to brush against her greyscale and let it tangle in her hair before he allowed his lips to connect to her cheek again. He felt a shudder run through her, and he pulled away slightly. His fingers slipped through her hair. When he reached the end of her hair, he let his hand skim over her arm, before resting it over her hand.

Shireen’s fingers twitched under his hand, but she didn’t move away. She stared him straight in the eyes before reaching a hand up to gently cup his cheek. At her touch, Rickon leaned into her palm and gripped her hand. Shireen softened and whispered, “You’re serious.”

Smiling, Rickon nodded, watching the different emotions play across her face. He quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek again, and then he whispered back, “Yes, Shireen. I am.”

A full spectrum of emotions crossed Shireen’s face before she pulled her hands away from Rickon. He gave her a slightly confused look until a smile crossed her face. Shireen threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him full on the mouth. Rickon responded to the kiss gently, letting her set the pace and experiment as needed. Tentatively, he reached out to place his hands on her hips, and Shireen let out a moan against his mouth.

Rickon smiled through the kiss and looked down at her in their small pauses. Shireen was smiling back at him and enthusiastically continuing to kiss him. Rickon could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and the strange feeling in his stomach settled into a definite heat. He _wanted_ her. Wrapping his hands further behind her back, he pulled her flush against his chest.

Shireen let out a gasp, and she pressed her chest into his. Rickon felt his head swimming with all the ideas of what he wanted to do to her. He slid back onto the table and let his hands slip down to her thighs. Rickon gripped her legs tightly, lifting her up onto his lap. Shireen let out a small squeal, resting her forearms on his shoulders. She slid closer to him, leaning her head down to continue kissing him. Her hair fell in a curtain around them, shielding them from the rest of the world. Rickon ran his hands over her legs, searching for the hem of her skirt. When he found it, he rubbed his palms over her legs, warming her up as much as possible. After making sure that her feet were okay, Rickon let his hands wander up even further until his hands found the hem of her smallclothes.

Humming a small sound of dissent against his mouth, Shireen tightened her arms around his neck. Rickon pulled back slightly, prepared to ask for permission, but Shireen moved from his lap.

“I didn’t mean to…” Rickon started feebly. That was a lie. He most certainly meant to do all that and more.

To his surprise, Shireen laughed. “No, it’s fine,” she said, brushing her hair back. “I just thought that this was getting in your way.” Shireen moved a hand to the laces of her dress and pulled at the loose end of the bow nestled between her breasts.

Rickon watched the bow slowly come apart. Then, he reached forward and tucked two fingers into the laces of her dress and placed his other hand on her back, pulling her closer. “May I?” he asked, moving his fingers slightly in the valley of her breasts. He could feel her heartbeat.

A blush rose up on Shireen’s face, and Rickon wondered how much more of her skin would flush from his touch. Shireen seemed to be struggling to swallow, but once she managed it, she nodded.

Holding her carefully, Rickon undid the laces of her dress. He watched as the fabric loosened and began to fall from her shoulders. As the fabric began sliding down, Rickon quickly kissed Shireen on the mouth before trailing kisses over the newly-exposed skin. Small noises left Shireen’s mouth as he kissed across her collarbone, and Rickon wanted to draw more sounds from her. Shireen’s hand went into his hair, lightly gripping into it and running her nails against his scalp. He could feel his breeches getting tighter and more uncomfortable as he continued. He didn’t want to do anything she didn’t want, but he didn’t want to stop.

As Rickon finished with her dress, he gripped his hands into the fabric around her waist. Then, he paused, looking up to Shireen for approval. Shireen pulled him close for another kiss before finding his hands with hers. She carefully guided his hands in taking off the dress, leaving her in only her smallclothes.

Rickon suddenly realized what was different about the dress. She was missing the multitude of layers of skirts that she usually wore with her dresses, presumably to keep warm. Shireen shivered slightly, bringing Rickon back to the present. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close for more kisses. Rickon lost himself in the pure heat of her, letting his hands roam over her body. Shireen’s arms went back around his neck, and her chest pressed forward moments before her hips rolled against his.

 _“Fuck,”_ he breathed out, biting his lip. Rickon pulled Shireen in tighter, and she repeated the motion. “You’re going to kill me, Shireen…”

Shireen hummed against his mouth. She lifted her hands to run through his hair briefly before they fell to the hem of his tunic. “Not yet,” she mumbled, pulling his shirt up and forcing him away so she could remove his shirt entirely. Then, she pressed up against him again and said, “Now.”

To stop himself from reacting to strongly to her advances, Rickon hastily picked her off the floor and set her onto the bed. Shireen giggled when his hands got caught underneath her, and Rickon noticed her skin prickling with gooseflesh. He ran his hands over her arms and settled onto the bed over her, telling himself that he was doing it to keep her warm. Rickon pressed soft, lingering kisses over every inch of skin he could find on her. He wanted to know her in these last few hours together. He wanted to run his lips and tongue over every inch of her. He wanted to mark her as _his._

“Rickon?” Shireen mumbled. 

It was almost completely dark in his room now, the only bits of light seeping in from the moon through the cracks around his door. Rickon scooted up to kiss her briefly on the mouth. He rolled onto his side next to her and pulled her close before mumbling out a “Hm?” and letting his hand run over her arm and down to her hip.

Shireen squirmed about slightly before looking him in the eyes. “Marry me.”

Rickon felt like his heart was soaring. She wanted him. She asked for him. Shireen Baratheon, princess and heir to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, wanted a wildling for a king. He could have her. If she could ask for him, then he could have her. Rickon caught himself imagining a future with Shireen: she as a queen on the Iron Throne, he at her side, and Shaggydog with them. He wanted to pour his heart out to her, tell her that yes, he would marry her, but there was something hesitant about her expression that threw him.

“Your father,” he guessed.

Shireen shut her eyes tight before looking back to him. “My father will marry me for whatever alliance is the strongest,” she said. “The North is as big as the whole South, and the northmen will follow a Stark. We _need_ the North, Rickon. We need _you._ ”

Leaning his head to hers, Rickon tried to meet her gaze. She was rationalizing her feelings so they could be together. She could imagine a future where he would demand her hand in marriage or begin another war. Rickon took a deep breath. “You do not need my alliance,” he said slowly. Seeing the protest grow on her lips, he added, “You do not need me because you already have me. I’ll not take the North from you. It will be yours. I will call my men in your name. I will fight for you. I will die for you.”

Shireen shook her head, and Rickon could see her eyes glistening with tears. “Rickon, I want you.”

“You have me, Shireen,” he said, wiping her eyes with soft touches. “I am yours. If anyone should ask something of you that you do not wish, simply send me a raven, and I will kill whoever tries.”

“Is that what it takes?” Shireen asked. “A raven? Because I will send you a raven the moment I get to my father’s camp and demand that you marry me.”

Rickon grabbed one of Shireen’s hands and pressed a small kiss to her knuckles. “Your father will never approve,” he said. “They expect me to separate from the Iron Throne. I’m useless. You’ll marry for another alliance.”

“I’ll marry a lord who’d sooner see me dead,” Shireen countered. “No man would dare to love me.”

At that, Rickon pulled her into another kiss, deepening it and letting his tongue sweep her mouth, hoping that he could show her what he meant to say. _I would. I do. I love you._

Shireen broke from the kiss haltingly. Her fingers lightly tapped against his collarbone before she reached down for the ties of his breeches. “If I cannot marry you, then bed me,” she said slowly. “Show me how a man loves a woman before I’m doomed to a loveless marriage.”

Rickon removed her hands from his breeches. Instead, he pulled her close for another kiss. “You are a maiden, Shireen,” he pointed out. “I cannot dishonor you.”

Shireen went limp in his arms – a clear sign of defeat. He knew that she was trying to reason out a way to be with him, and he loved her all the more for that. Still, he couldn’t just deny the woman that captured his heart long ago. Especially not now that he knew she wanted him. 

He kissed her roughly, hungrily, trying to show her his intentions. Shireen kissed him back slowly, letting the fire between them slowly roar back to life. Rickon slid his hands over her body and carefully removed her smallclothes.

“I cannot dishonor you,” he said again. “But I will give you every pleasure I can.”

Moving down, Rickon kissed at her skin. He spared no inch from his lips or the sweep of his tongue. He intentionally avoided her breasts until she moved his hands there, and his mouth was quick to follow. Rickon drew several noises from Shireen by pressing his tongue flat over her breast and swirling the tip of his tongue around her nipple before sucking at it gently. Then, he repeated his actions on the other.

Soon, Shireen was a panting mess beneath him and her hands gripped his hair after attempting to clutch at the sheets of the bed. She let out a particularly alluring moan when he worked his way down her stomach, and his hands led the way to the juncture between her thighs. Shireen adjusted to his proximity quickly, and Rickon grinned up at her before he began exploring her. 

He paused briefly before running his tongue over the length of her. Shireen breathed out his name. Rickon continued to work at her with his tongue until she called his name several more times. He loved the way it sounded when it fell from her lips in pleasure, and he knew he would give her anything she asked if she said it now. With every intent to keep his promise, Rickon worked his fingers into her, never stopping the pressure of his tongue when he discovered where he needed to be to pull more tempting sounds from her mouth. Her hands wound their way into his hair again, and Rickon felt the tension in her teetering on the edge. Keeping his pace, Rickon glanced up to watch her flush as he pulled an orgasm from her.

Shireen fell back into the pillows, her breath coming in short bursts. Rickon slowed just the slightest amount before he repeated the actions again, trying to pull another from her. Shireen whimpered and moaned beneath him as his tongue worked at her, and Rickon managed to draw out two more before he slowed to a stop. 

Rickon slowly moved back to her side, licking off his fingers in the process. He relished the fact that it was _her_ on him, and, regardless of much his jaw hurt, he would continue if she asked. Rickon felt his erection throbbing against his breeches, more aroused after seeing her undone, but he ignored the sensation and wrapped her in his arms. Shireen curled into him, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“I love you, Rickon,” she murmured.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and Shireen tilted her head up to receive another on the lips. He complied before tucking her back into his arms. Rickon tried to think through her words. He knew what the general notion of love was, but he didn’t know if she truly felt that way or if she thought she did because of his actions. Either way, he knew what was swelling in his heart whenever he thought of her.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated early because I have work tomorrow. I was also excited (and nervous?) for this one. For obvious reasons.  
> Let me know what you think.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon makes a decision.

Rickon didn’t sleep that night. He watched Shireen in his arms, though he paid little mind to her exposed body. Instead, he watched her face relax and the steady breathing of her chest against his. His hands were slow, moving over her body to keep her warm. When the chill of the night began to cool him down, he pulled a fur over the both of them but didn’t still his hands.

Come morning, they were to leave Castle Black for Winterfell and Stannis’s army. Rickon tried to figure out how he would last the journey with her by his side but off-limits once again. He didn’t know if he could stand by and not have her, especially now that he knew what it meant to love her so strongly. He would go mad, surely. Rickon didn’t know if he could keep himself from her, if he could stop himself from holding her, from kissing her…

Rickon pressed a light kiss to her lips. Shireen stirred slightly in his arms, and Rickon stroked her hair until she settled back into a deep sleep. He watched her a few minutes more, memorizing every bit of her face before he carefully pulled himself out of bed. With meticulous care, he tucked the fur in around Shireen and pulled another over her. Rickon pressed a few more kisses to her face before he dressed himself quickly. Once he was in all his layers of clothing, he opened the door and found Shaggydog lying down in front of it. Shaggydog was effectively blocking half the doorway, even lying down, and when he looked up at Rickon, he took up more space.

“Up, Shaggy,” Rickon said softly. He watched the direwolf stand slowly, stretching out. With a sigh, Rickon wrapped his arms around Shaggydog’s neck. It was possibly the last honorable thing he could do for her. “Take care of her.”

Shaggydog licked Rickon’s cheek once before walking into the room and settling next to Shireen on the bed. Rickon watched the princess turn to the wolf and he smiled to himself, happy that a woman found comfort in a direwolf. Thinking on how Shaggydog was tamed under her thumb, Rickon grabbed his belongings and left the room.

The sun hadn’t yet risen, and almost no men on the Wall were awake, save for the men keeping watch. They wouldn’t be watching to the south, though. No one would see him go. Rickon left Castle Black quickly before he could convince himself to turn back. Staying far from the Kingsroad, Rickon made his way through the forest quickly. He kept his mind from wandering back to the woman who shared his bed and to the heat of her kisses. When he found himself at a particular moment of weakness, he ran. 

Running was good for clearing his mind. Rickon was forced to pay attention to where his feet were landing, to the trees he’d crash into otherwise. He passed a small village – the one he assumed was what the brothers of the Night’s Watch were constantly talking about. He imagined that the Baratheon men were staying here for the night. They’d be up with the sun and at Castle Black soon after. Rickon ran past them, past the men that sought him and the princess they represented. He didn’t want to think about them. He didn’t want anything more to do with it. He _couldn’t_ have anything else to do with it. It wasn’t his life. It was hers. He had no part of it.

Rickon ran until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He finally slumped down next to a tree and convinced himself that he couldn’t go back. Regardless of what he wanted, he couldn’t go back. He knew that. He _told_ her that. He wasn’t going to start a war for her. He was done with wars. He knew what wars did to people – to families. His father, his mother, Robb, Grey Wind, Lady… all taken from him by a war. He wouldn’t do that to anyone else, even if it meant giving up the woman he loved.

Not bothering with food or water, Rickon leaned against the tree and a wave of fatigue hit him. It was done. He’d made up his mind. He couldn’t change it anymore. Closing his eyes, Rickon let the fatigue take over his body and fell into a deep sleep.

Shaggydog was waiting for him. Rickon almost regretted it, but she was _there_ again. Rickon felt Shireen stirring next to Shaggydog, running her hand through his pelt. Rickon settled into the sleep, holding onto the feeling of having her again. Shireen woke slowly until she suddenly sat up.

“Rickon?” she called, looking around the room. “Rickon?”

Her words were a stab to his heart. She wanted him. She was searching for him again. Shireen threw off the furs and assembled her clothes.

Rickon forced himself awake. He couldn’t watch her. Not now. He couldn’t bear to see her don the clothes he’d taken off her the night before. He almost couldn’t watch her search about for him. He couldn’t stand knowing that he’d done that to her. Still, he was exhausted and the fatigue couldn’t be ignored.

Shireen was rushing out of her room, and Shaggydog followed at her heels. Rickon settled into the direwolf as much as he could in his attempt at rest. Shireen was running through Castle Black. She marched straight into the main hall with the great beast behind her, startling several of the men. Jon recoiled slightly at the sight.

“Princess,” Jon greeted. Rickon could see him searching for something else to say.

“Where’s Rickon?” she demanded.

Jon fumbled over his thoughts. “I don’t – what?”

“Rickon is missing,” Shireen said. “Where is he?”

“I can assure you that I don’t know,” Jon said. He tried to straighten up but faltered under her stare. “I’ll have my men search him out, but Shaggydog is with you. Rickon wouldn’t leave him.”

Shireen turned back to Shaggydog and slowly led him back to Rickon’s room. Shireen threw herself onto the bed, and he could see her chest heaving with sobs. Rickon walked over to her, lying next to her on the bed. Shireen turned into the direwolf, digging her hands into his fur.

“Rickon?” she called again, looking into Shaggydog’s eyes. “It’s you.”

Rickon tentatively moved to her face and allowed Shaggydog to lick her greyscale.

“But where are you?” she asked. “This isn’t you.”

Rickon dug Shaggydog’s snout into her neck, licking softly at the scar on her neck. Shireen gripped her hands into Shaggydog’s fur, holding onto the neck of the direwolf and settling against his fur.

Rickon couldn’t take it anymore. He woke with a layer of snow over his body and he shook himself off. He couldn’t stay near her longer than necessary. She had Shaggydog now. Shaggydog would protect her, and he couldn’t. Not anymore. Getting to his feet, Rickon decided that bearing the fatigue was better than torturing himself with the feeling of her, so he continued on his way south.

Finding everything and anything that could possibly distract him, Rickon traveled for most of the day. He completely wore himself out by the time night fell, but he continued through the night until he couldn’t go on any longer.

At night, he found himself struggling to separate his mind from Shaggydog’s. Shaggydog was constantly at Shireen’s side, and Rickon’s thoughts were in the direwolf’s mind every time he went to sleep for even the briefest of moments. Still, he allowed himself into Shaggydog to watch over Shireen. He made sure that her guard acted properly around her. Shaggydog helped by growling at the men and scaring them away from her. Shireen took it all in stride. She had the cold demeanor of a ruthless queen, always speaking to her men in clipped tones and giving them cruel looks.

Rickon felt a strong sense of pride in her actions. He loved watching her get the recognition she deserved, but his heart fell every night she spent crying against Shaggydog’s pelt. Rickon hated himself for doing that to her. He abandoned her. He consciously made the decision to leave her. Yet, she still called for him. She still wanted him.

For the next week, Rickon followed Shireen around Castle Black through Shaggydog’s eyes. Apparently, he had just missed a storm that hit the keep and they were boarded up until the storm passed. He cursed the gods, thinking that it was another week he could have spent with her. He knew he wouldn’t. He knew that as soon her guard arrived, he would be separated from her. The queen-to-be wouldn’t be allowed to have him regardless of her position of power.

With the time he spent in Shaggydog’s mind, Rickon still continued on his way south whenever he was awake. He no longer had any idea of how far he had traveled, but he moved on, not daring to stop. The chill was harsh, yes, but it was bearable. He was rarely cold, save for his moments of staying still. This caused him to keep moving on, often giving up sleep to continue moving south. 

When he finally caught wind of Shireen moving south, part of him wanted to stop moving all together and wait for her to catch up to him. They would be moving slowly, though, and he needed to keep moving, too.

So Rickon continued on, following the Kingsroad and hunting his way down. He knew Winterfell would be the first major landmark to cross his path, and so he pressed on. Shireen and Shaggydog traveled slowly with their company, and Rickon couldn’t help but think that he on his feet was moving faster than they on their horses.

Rickon continued travelling in this manner for weeks. He wasn’t aware of distances or times anymore. He just knew that he kept going. Occasionally, he built up the energy to hunt and cook fresh meat, but he was always heading south. He was surprised when he saw a large keep rise out of the snow in front of him. Rickon found himself looking down at the keep of Winterfell. He briefly thought that the damage to the castle was far less then he remembered before he walked down to see his home again.

He was fully in the courtyard when the sharp sound of metal on metal hit his ears. Rickon looked around for the source of the noise, following his ears to the forge. His movements were sluggish now that he reached his destination, but he entered the forge to see an incredibly large man hammering pieces of iron into shape. Rickon leaned onto the doorframe, as the steady clanging of metal on metal lulled him toward the deep sleep he’d been denying himself for so long. 

After a few minutes, the man turned around. He jumped back at seeing Rickon standing there, slumping down near the door. Rickon had always thought that he had grown to be quite tall, but he had nothing on this man.

“Who are you?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes at Rickon.

Rickon met his eyes and was taken aback. This man had the same eyes – everything about them was identical to Shireen’s. His heart ached to think about her again, but he mastered himself to respond. “Rickon,” he said. “I’m–”

“You’re Rickon Stark,” the man cut him off. “They said you were dead. I didn’t think…”

Rickon didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know who this man was or what he was doing here. All he could feel was his exhaustion from his journey south and the appeal of finally getting a good night’s sleep. His eyes began to close at the thought and he fell forward. The man caught him before he hit the ground and braced Rickon against his body. Then, he carried the bulk of Rickon’s weight into the keep and up a flight of stairs.

The man carried Rickon all the way to the softest bed he’d ever felt, even pulling a fur over him. Rickon was vaguely aware that he dropped his belongings somewhere and that this man could easily kill him. Rickon reached for the dagger at his belt before sitting up, but the man was already at the door. “Wait,” he called weakly. “Who are you?”

“Gendry,” the man replied. “I’m a smith.”

That certainly explained the forge. Rickon tried to think through reasons why Gendry would bother coming to an abandoned Winterfell, but the bed under him was far too comfortable. Gendry gave Rickon a weak smile.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” he offered. “But you look tired, milord. You should rest.”

Rickon wanted to protest that he didn’t need it, but the warmth won him over and he sunk into a deep sleep.

\--

Rickon soon learned that Gendry had been at Winterfell for a couple months. Apparently, he was fixing up the castle. It had been abandoned since he got there. Once Rickon caught up on his rest, he helped Gendry with fixing up the castle, offering his assistance where he could in the forge and hunting for some meals. Rickon didn’t ask much about Gendry’s past, as he was still far too consumed in his own thoughts. 

He still followed Shireen through Shaggydog whenever he could, tracking her progress and trying to estimate her arrival at Winterfell. Rickon also made a few trips to the godswood, having short one-sided conversations with Bran and finding comfort in the hot springs. Within a week, he found a new sort of ease at Winterfell. Gendry didn’t expect much from him and mostly stayed in the forge or wherever he was working for the day. This allowed Rickon the independence he craved at Castle Black, but Rickon found that the massive, empty castle was rather lonely.

“Hey, Gendry,” Rickon asked one day. They were finishing up the last of the roof on a smaller part of the keep. “Is the way to the crypts cleared?”

Gendry nodded, finishing up his work and heading back down the ladder. Rickon followed. “It is,” Gendry replied. “I’ve only been down once, but a few graves are empty.”

Rickon knew which those were. It wasn’t his reason for heading down, though. “I’m going to head down later,” he said. “Just so you know, in case I go missing.”

“You’re free to roam your castle as you like, milord,” Gendry said. “I’ll just find more work to take care of.”

Even with the few days of knowing Gendry, Rickon hadn’t been able to get him to call him by his name. He felt like he understood how Shireen felt about being called ‘princess’ now. Still, Rickon returned to the room he had claimed – the one he assumed should house the lord – and retrieved the sword he’d been carrying around for the past few years. 

The crypts were dark and cold, but it wasn’t much colder than the air outside. Walking down the narrow, winding stairs, Rickon went to the graves missing their weapons. Only two swords were missing, but Rickon had always felt grief over taking even more from his father’s grave. Rickon found the grave easily, labelled with the stone statue of his father. Placing the sword back into its place on the grave, Rickon knelt before his father’s grave, knowing that his bones weren’t here. Then, Rickon glanced to the places carved out for his mother and brother – another two graves lacking bones and statues. Rickon wondered if they’d ever be returned to Winterfell.

The rest were empty, but Rickon knew that was because his sisters and brother were alive. According to tradition, they’d only be buried here if they held the seat of Winterfell, but Rickon wouldn’t deny them that if they asked. Every Stark should rest here and be at peace with the remainder of their family. _Jon, too,_ Rickon thought. _Jon will be here, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this is the halfway point, but I could be wrong....  
> Let me know what you think about it!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon adapts to life at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm generally against spoilers, but small warning for potential triggers at the end (I will mark before/after with ***).

Life at Winterfell wasn’t quite what Rickon expected. There were literally no people around save for Rickon and Gendry, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep busy as the days wore on. Rickon took his time exploring the castle, trying to figure out exactly how he would ever run this castle if people ever showed up.

Gendry was no help to Rickon. He spent all his time in the forge or fixing up some part of the castle. To be fair, the keep was always in increasingly better repair, though Gendry often shied away from parts if he didn’t know how to properly fix them. Rickon helped when he could, but Gendry was quite solitary and wouldn’t talk much. 

When Rickon got bored, he’d run off to go hunting or sit in the godswood. Oftentimes, he napped during the day to keep a watch on Shireen through Shaggydog. Shireen was doing relatively well by his count. She no longer shed tears for him and spent slightly more time with her father’s men. Shaggydog always ran off to hunt quickly and returned directly to her side. Of everything he’d done, Rickon was glad that Shireen still had the direwolf to rely on.

One day, Rickon stopped himself from reading through some of the material he found to seek out Gendry specifically.

“Did you pass through a town just south of here?” Rickon asked him.

Gendry paused from his work to glance up at Rickon. “I did,” he said slowly. “It was abandoned, though. There was no one there. I walked right through to Winterfell.”

Rickon frowned. According to the papers he found, Winter’s Town was always occupied during the winter. “It’s still winter, right?”

“Does it ever stop being winter in the North?” Gendry asked, a small smile on his face.

Rickon rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

Gendry shook his head slightly at Rickon, dropping the subject. Rickon wandered about the forge for a moment before heading to the door. He was about to leave the forge when Gendry addressed him. “Have you a sword, milord?”

“From the Night’s Watch,” Rickon replied. “They trained me and gave me one.”

“Would you like a new one?” Gendry asked.

Rickon shrugged. “I suppose. Do you smith weapons?”

Gendry nodded solemnly. “Was trained to smith weapons. I learned the other bits on my own. There’s not enough steel to make myself a sword… I figured you could use one.”

“I suppose I could,” Rickon replied, eyeing the supplies Gendry was working with. Regardless of what repair needed to be done on the castle, they were running out of material. Soon, the both of them would be bored at Winterfell with nothing to do. Rickon left the forge, allowing Gendry to work alone. 

The next day, Rickon climbed up one of the walls looking south to seek out Winter’s Town. Sure enough, there were no obvious signs of life coming from it. Still, Rickon retrieved his cloak and walked a few miles south to Winter’s Town.

It was utterly abandoned as far as he could see. No smoke rose from any of the chimneys and several doors had been entirely snowed in. Rickon took the time to free a door and walked into an inn. The floor was layered in dust, and the kitchen showed no sign of use. There were a few sacks of vegetables that had survived the winter that Rickon noted to collect in case they ran out of supplies at Winterfell. He wandered upstairs, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was no response. No noise was coming from the inn at all. There weren’t even any signs that animals had taken shelter here. With a sigh, Rickon left the inn, shutting the entrance tight behind him. He kicked some snow under the door to seal it better and took a quick look around Winter’s Town before returning to Winterfell.

For dinner, he sat across from Gendry in the forge. They had taken to cooking their meals there since the fire was already going most days.

“Didn’t believe me?” Gendry asked, shoving a chunk of potato in his mouth.

Rickon stared down at his plate. “I just had to see it,” he said. “In case someone was there… We could offer them help.”

Gendry nodded, continuing to peck at his meal. After a few minutes, he looked back up. “Did you have a direwolf, milord?”

“I did,” Rickon said, smiling. “Shaggydog, I named him.”

“What happened to him?” Gendry asked.

Rickon frowned, gripping his fork tighter. “I gave him away. Someone needed him more than I did.”

Gendry frowned. “But you don’t look like a Stark,” he pointed out. “How will people know who you are without a direwolf?”

Shrugging, Rickon said, “I’ve been told I look like a Tully.” That was true. Shireen had pointed it out to him several times when they went over the major houses. He looked back to Gendry, “My mother was a Tully.”

“I know,” Gendry said. He pushed his remaining food around his plate.

Rickon was confused. “How do you know?”

Gendry gave Rickon a rare smile. “Confused that a bastard knows his houses?”

“Not that,” Rickon said, waving his hand slightly. He furrowed his brow. “I just thought that you were from King’s Landing… Riverrun is much further north; surely the news wouldn’t have reached you.”

“I knew a girl,” Gendry said tersely. He took a moment to fidget with his plate. “She told me.”

Rickon could tell that Gendry was closing off from him. There was something about his past that Gendry didn’t want to tell him, but Rickon wasn’t terribly good at keeping quiet. “Who?”

Gendry sighed. He slowly set down his empty plate and gave Rickon a hard look. Then, he chuckled, leaning his head back against the wall. “She always told me about her wolf,” he said quietly. “How it bit the prince and she had to send it away. She thought it was following us in the forest… Nymeria, she named it…”

 _Nymeria_ , Rickon thought. Immediately, he felt a howl resonate in his chest. Even though he knew he hadn’t heard it, Rickon still looked around for the source. Turning back to Gendry, a question died on his lips at the look on Gendry’s face. He bit back his questions.

“Arya,” Gendry whispered after a while. “Arya Stark of Winterfell… She always wanted to come here, but I couldn’t… I left her. When I heard that she was here, I came immediately. I took too long, though. Winterfell was completely abandoned. I failed her.”

“Gendry, you didn’t fail her.” Rickon thought back to Shireen. He left her, too. He could have stayed with her, but he chose not to. He couldn’t. He knew that. “Arya’s alive somewhere,” Rickon said. “I know she is. I don’t know what happened with you, but she’s okay. She’ll come back.”

Gendry ran his fingers through his hair. “I should be searching for her,” he said. “Not just waiting.”

“Then go,” Rickon said. “If you have to leave, I won’t stop you. But you’re not just waiting. You’re rebuilding her home. It’s not nothing.”

Standing up slowly, Gendry went back to the fire of the forge. He carefully put the end of a blade into the fire. Rickon knew better than to stay. Gendry was done talking. He didn’t like distractions while he worked. Taking the plates, Rickon went back into the keep. He deposited the dishes in the kitchen, making sure to clean them off before heading back to the godswood. 

Rickon had only attempted to bathe in the hot spring once before, and that time he managed to completely freeze his smallclothes after leaving them on. This time, he stripped completely before walking into the hot water. Submerging, Rickon let the heat seep into his body before breaking the surface again. It wasn’t really a bath, but it was as close as he got nowadays. Leaning back, Rickon allowed himself to float on the surface. After making sure that his head was braced on one of the banks, he drifted off, seeking out his direwolf. 

The Baratheon camp was already set up for the night. Shaggydog was roaming the perimeter in half-circles, always keeping Shireen’s tent in sight. A few nights ago, Shireen had sent Shaggydog out of her tent. Rickon assumed that was his fault for slipping into the direwolf so often. Still, Shaggydog kept watch over her and Rickon continued to check that she was safe. As Shaggydog neared the fire, Rickon could make out four men sitting around it. He approached slowly, eavesdropping on their conversation.

“We’ll be there tomorrow… Tonight may be our only chance.”

“It would have been sooner, if you lot agreed to let me do it!”

“I want to be king, too!”

“You’re just a bastard. You think Stannis wants his daughter wed to a bastard?”

“No more than I think Stannis wants her wed to you.”

“Keep quiet. That bloody wolf is here again.”

“Wolves can’t understand words.”

One of the men scoffed, and Rickon could feel Shaggydog bristling. He took a few steps closer.

“I’ll fuck her right now, then. Leave you bastards to your arguing.”

Shaggydog let out a loud bark. Rickon felt anger boiling through his body. That was their plan? They wanted to force Shireen’s marriage to one of them? Rickon would never allow that. Right as he was about to force himself awake, the men started speaking again.

“Not now… Wait for the shift to change. No need to involve the extra guards.”

“Aye… tonight then.”

Rickon woke himself up immediately. Splashing his way out of the pool, he quickly dressed himself. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Rickon was fueled by a new kind of anger. An immense rage had taken over his body, and he legitimately felt the urge to kill. Surprisingly, he worked much faster and more efficiently with his clothing. In no time at all, he was in the forge.

“Did you finish that sword?” Rickon asked, quickly glancing around.

Rickon couldn’t find Gendry, but there was a sword resting just before the burned out fire. Rickon was affixing the sword to his belt when Gendry wandered in from the back room.

“Just there, milord,” he mutter, rubbing his eyes. “I might need to make a few adjustments…”

“Later,” Rickon said shortly. He couldn’t give this fire any time to die down. He couldn’t let those men hurt Shireen. “I need to go, but I’ll be back soon.”

Gendry gave Rickon a confused look, but Rickon ignored him. He had other things to worry about. Rickon was out of Winterfell in the next minute, debating whether he should call Shaggydog for a ride. Shireen needed the direwolf now more than ever, and he couldn’t put her in greater risk. His journey would take longer, but she had a better chance of staying safe.

Panic truly set into Rickon when the sun was setting. It had already been late when he found out the plan, and he had a few hours to travel a day’s distance. Rickon raced his way through the snow, trying to speed himself up whenever possible. He knew he could make it in time, knew he _had_ to make it on time. If he failed now, he would never forgive himself. It’d be his fault for leaving her – for putting her in harm’s way.

Rickon’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the faint glow of a fire in the distance. He took a moment to figure out the time before sprinting straight to the camp near Shireen’s tent. The light was far too low. It was late. It was too late for him to feel safe. He could see Shaggydog’s eyes glinting in the low light just past her tent, and he knew that Shaggydog was struggling to obey the order Shireen had given him while keeping her safe. Quietly, Rickon circled to the entrance of the tent, determining if anything had happened yet, or if he could sneak her from the camp now.

***

Then, Rickon heard mumbling coming from the inside. His blood turned to ice. With slow, steady movements that he did not think himself capable of, he entered the tent. Inside, a man was braced over Shireen. He had one hand clamped over her mouth and the other was somewhere between them. Rickon wanted his head.

With his sword drawn, Rickon grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, pulling him fully away from Shireen and placing the blade at his neck in one motion. The surprise of his appearance threw the man off entirely, allowing Rickon to force him back to the mouth of the tent.

***

Now freed, Shireen let out a whimper. Rickon forced himself not to look back at her. He needed to keep a hold of his anger while he dealt with these men. He couldn’t let her soften him. Not now. He could feel Shireen moving behind him, and she grabbed at his breeches. Rickon let the smallest amount of relief cross him. She was there. She was safe.

The man in front of him was slowly overcoming his shock. Rickon knew it wouldn’t be long until he started screaming for help, so he kicked him down to the floor and placed the tip of the sword at his neck. The man started to make a small, pathetic sound, but Rickon silenced him with a look.

“You are going to die,” Rickon said. “My blade will kill you. If you try to call for help, my direwolf will kill you. I think you know which will be worse.”

Pure terror appeared on the man’s face, and he looked genuinely terrified. Rickon wouldn’t let him live. After his poor decision of leaving Shireen, he couldn’t stand to have the proof of it still alive.

“Princess,” Rickon whispered. “Do I have your permission to kill this man for his crime?”

A moment passed in silence. Rickon could only imagine what Shireen was trying to do to get her voice back and become the queen she would be. However, instead of any eloquent response she simply said, “Yes.”

Rickon’s blade fell down swiftly, fully decapitating the man. Sparing him no further attention, Rickon turned back to Shireen.

Her dress was torn, ripped open where the laces should have been. Rickon prepared to remove his shirts for her to wear when she threw herself against his chest, holding on to him tightly. She breathed out his name before she started heaving with sobs. Wrapping his arms around her, Rickon pulled her close, running a hand in circles over her back while the other held her head against his shoulder. After a few minutes, she pulled away the smallest amount and whispered, “You came back.”

Rickon could feel tears stinging his eyes. Shireen had been crying in earnest, and Rickon just wanted to hold her. He knew they had to move, though. There were still three more men who would do her harm. “Are you hurt?” Rickon asked. “Please tell me that I wasn’t too late.”

“I’m fine,” Shireen said. Her hands twisted lightly in his shirts before smoothing them out again.

“I said I would stop any man from doing something you did not wish,” Rickon whispered. He gripped her tighter, holding her in place. “I couldn’t stay away. I love you, Shireen.”

At that, Shireen threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Rickon hugged her back until he heard the crunch of snow just outside the tent. Immediately, he drew his sword and tightened his grip on Shireen before standing. A man took one step inside the tent before he had Rickon’s blade at his throat. Belatedly, he noticed the blood.

“Step forward,” Rickon commanded. His voice was as sharp as his steel. “If you step backwards, if you say anything, my direwolf will kill you.”

The man faltered, and Rickon could see the thoughts crossing his face. Then, a bout of realization crossed his face. He took a step back and mumbled, “Y-your direwolf?”

Shaggydog was on him a second later, tearing out his throat with a quick snap. Any scream the man might have had building up died with him.

Rickon turned to Shireen. “You need to go,” he rushed out. “There are at least two others who would do the same to you, maybe more now.”

“There were only six men in the guard,” Shireen said, finally pulling away from Rickon to gather her things.

Pulling off his shirts as fast as he could, Rickon sloppily put them on over her ripped dress. Shireen was confused for a minute before she helped him tie them up. Once she was covered again, Rickon pulled her fur blankets out and wrapped her in those as well. Then, he led her out of the tent.

“Where are we going?” Shireen asked. “It’s the dead of night.”

“Winterfell,” Rickon said. “It’s close. Shaggy will take you.”

On cue, the direwolf returned to her side, lying down in the snow. Rickon noticed that he’d cleaned his snout of any blood before returning. At least the direwolf had enough sense to look proper before her.

Shireen ran a hand through his fur before turning back to Rickon. “You’re coming, too,” she said. Rickon could hear the authority in her voice. She had definitely fallen into her role as queen.

Shaking his head, Rickon helped her onto Shaggydog. “Soon,” he promised. “First, I must deal with the men who would commit treason against my queen.”

Rickon watched Shireen bite back a protest. After a moment, she settled on the direwolf. Slowly, she reached a hand down to cup his cheek. Rickon smiled up at her, pressing his hand over hers. Before she pulled away, Rickon pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Return to me soon,” Shireen said, giving him a small smile. “I will await your return.” Without being prompted, Shireen gripped a hand into Shaggydog’s fur and tapped him gently on the head. Immediately, Shaggydog bounded through the snow to a waiting Winterfell.

Rickon watched them leave until he heard sounds of shuffling behind him. Frowning, Rickon faced the remainder of the camp. Generally shouts were coming from the main fire, demanding people’s whereabouts, and Rickon assumed that they were referring to the men he had killed. He drew his sword once more, finally allowing himself a moment to admire Gendry’s craftsmanship. It would probably be the best blade he ever owned. One shout rose above the others, and Rickon quietly made his way to the center of the camp.

Surrounding the fire were three men who were all yelling at each other. Rickon made out a few snippets about two dead men and the missing princess. One of the men was obviously less informed than the others and kept asking questions about what exactly had happened while the other two men tried to fill him in. _He must have been on guard,_ Rickon thought. _He could be innocent._

Approaching one of the informed men from behind, Rickon jumped forward with his sword at his throat. The other two men jumped at his appearance.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them yelled at him.

Rickon took a deep breath. “You have committed treason against your king, Stannis Baratheon,” he grit out. He was having a hard time being diplomatic. “The princess has sentenced you to die.” Without sparing any time, Rickon sliced open the man’s throat, letting him bleed out in the snow.

“You a sellsword?” one called out.

“He’s a faceless man!” the other screamed.

Rickon approached the other guilty man slowly. The man fumbled with his sword until it was finally drawn. Rickon didn’t slow his approach. “I’m Rickon Stark,” he spat out. “Lord of Winterfell. And you are going to die.”

Swinging forward, Rickon aimed to kill. The man threw up a shallow guard that Rickon easily deflected before slicing down on his shoulder. The man fell to his knees, hefting his sword up the smallest amount. Rickon felt disgusted. _This_ was the guard sent to protect the heir to the seven kingdoms? Shireen deserved better. Aiming a kick at the man’s hand, Rickon watched his sword fall into the snow. Then, Rickon easily sliced off his head.

Carefully, Rickon turned back to the remainder of the guard. Another man had joined them. The two guards who weren’t in on the plan were the only men remaining. However, both had their weapons drawn and pointed at Rickon. Narrowing his eyes at them, he said, “You have done no treason.”

“Fuck you, mate!” one of the men called. “You just killed them! I’ll kill you, too!”

Rickon sighed. He really didn’t want to kill these men if he didn’t have to. He couldn’t lose this, though. Shireen was expecting him. He had to go home to her. Raising his sword, Rickon prepared to take on the two men. Rickon didn’t have much experience fighting against multiple people at once, but these men were bulky. If he could properly dodge their attacks, he’d have plenty of time to take care of them. Staying back, Rickon waited for one of them to make the first move.

A few seconds later, one of the men struck at him. Rickon side-stepped the blow and immediately ducked under the other’s swing. Once he recovered from those two, he had to dodge another strike. With their staggered attacks, Rickon didn’t have time to go on the offensive. He was stuck defending himself until they wore themselves out, or someone died. 

Several bouts passed. Rickon sustained minimal damage, but he was struggling to get a swing in. The way these men fought, any offensive opportunity would end poorly if he took advantage of it. He felt like he was back at Castle Black, analyzing patterns in fighting and figuring out how to turn this in his favor. Any jab to kill one of the men? His arm would be lost. The wrong step forward? A foot. He had to wait for the perfect opportunity to hit one of them without giving the other an advantage, or kill them both with one blow. 

Or he could fight them like a wildling.

Taking quick steps in, Rickon pressed one of the men back while deflecting the blows of the other. He slashed across the abdomen of both men, injuring the two of them, but not enough to kill. Keeping his back to one of the men was dangerous, but Rickon needed the other to slip up. He blocked out several blows, constantly rotating back and forth to compensate for his proximity. He dropped his sword with a strike and picked up his daggers instead. Rickon carefully timed an opposing strike and he twisted around to force a man to take the blow directly in the heart. Kicking him into the other man, both were thrown off-balance, falling to the ground and bleeding out.

Rickon took a small moment to get his breath back before walking over to the fallen bodies. The dead man was weighing down the one still breathing. Spinning his dagger in his hand, Rickon kicked away the swords and knelt down next to the remaining man. Without a word, Rickon drove his blade directly into the man’s chest – right where he knew the heart was. With a small gulp, Rickon watched the light go out of the man’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this was too much, or you just want to talk about anything, shoot me a message on my [tumblr](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com). Anon is always on and I’ll answer everything.  
> Of course, you’re always welcome to comment here and let me know what you think.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon and Shireen come to terms.

Worn out, exhausted, and thoroughly beaten, Rickon looked around the now empty camp. The horses that belonged to the Baratheon men were long gone, and Rickon briefly wondered why they hadn’t been tied properly. Seeing no other option for return, Rickon decided to walk back. With a heavy sigh, Rickon went back to Shireen’s tent. He located her belongings in a few trunks and quickly determined that he couldn’t carry them. Not now, at least. Bundling up some clothes for her, Rickon began walking back to Winterfell. 

He was much more relaxed on the walk back, and the adrenaline was slowly leaving his system. Rickon was thankful that he had arrived before Shireen suffered any harm. He knew she was safe at Winterfell. Even if she managed to somehow wake Gendry, he knew that she’d be safe. Shaggydog would look after her, and Rickon would be back soon.

It was hours before Rickon was in sight of Winterfell, and he was starting to feel a bit delirious. Rickon’s mind was muddled with half-thoughts, and he could feel his eyes starting to droop. When Shaggydog appeared at his side, he didn’t even question his presence. Rickon simply climbed on to the direwolf’s back and lurched into sleep on the return. 

\--

Rickon woke slowly. There was a faint light streaming in from his window, and he was lying down on the bed he had claimed. Rickon tried to sit up quickly, but a hand on his shoulder pressed him firmly back down. Turning, Rickon saw Shireen sitting on the other half of his bed. Immediately, Rickon relaxed. The light from the window was making her hair shine, and Rickon felt calm again. She had a hard look on her face, but she was there. Rickon slumped back into the pillows.

“You’re still injured,” she said, turning away from him. For a moment, she was out of his sight as she walked around the bed. Finally, she leaned over him and pulled off one of the dressings from his arm. Rickon couldn’t remember taking the hit, but it was close to being completely healed. Looking up at her, Rickon noticed that she was avoiding his eyes. He reached out for her hand, but she pulled away.

“Shireen—”

“You left me,” she mumbled.

Rickon forced himself to swallow. She was right. He left her at Castle Black while he ran south. He couldn’t make up for that. He didn’t know how. Rickon tried to meet her eyes again. She was still staring pointedly down at his chest. Slowly, her eyelashes filled with tears and a drop fell onto him. He tried again. “Shireen…”

“You left,” she repeated. Her voice was firmer than before, even with her tears. She finally met his gaze. Her cheeks were stained with her tears, and she was crying in earnest now. “How could you? I was _with_ you. _I trusted you._ ”

Shireen’s whole body shook with a sob. Immediately, Rickon sat up and wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t try to move away, so he pulled her into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I was scared. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do… I’m in love with a princess, and I can never have her.”

“You can become a king and take me,” Shireen suggested. “Or steal me like a wildling.”

Rickon breathed out a laugh. He could feel his own eyes prickling with tears. “I could never,” he murmured. “You are essential to your father’s conquest. Without you, he has no need to take the throne. And I will not deny you your throne.”

“I could be Queen in the North.”

Rickon froze. He never expected Shireen to make any such suggestion. She certainly wouldn’t want to live out her days in the freezing North. It was harsh and frigid up here. Her blood had scarcely thickened at the Wall. Rickon tried to re-focus on the woman in his arms. She was staring straight back at him, no longer in tears. After a moment, Shireen wiped off her face and gave him a weak smile.

“Let me be your queen, Rickon.”

Instantly, Rickon’s mouth was on hers. Shireen giggled against his lips before sliding her tongue between his lips. He kissed her fiercely, holding her tight against his body. She twisted in his grip, just enough to wrap her arms around his neck. One of her hands pulled at his hair, and Rickon moaned into her mouth. He slid a hand down to her hips to pull her even closer.

With a small laugh, Shireen pushed him away. “You’re still injured,” she said. “And you need food.”

Rickon grinned at her. “I think I could live off this.”

Shireen rolled her eyes at him, wiggling her way out of his grip. Rickon held onto one of her hands as long as he could. When she was out of his reach, Rickon slumped back into his pillows. He watched her leave the room and tried to think through their new predicament.

She still wasn’t his. Even if she offered herself to him, it wasn’t her choice to make. It was so stupid. Rickon hated everyone who thought to decide people’s futures for them. He never thought he’d leave Skagos. He definitely didn’t think that he’d be in love with a princess and be thrown back into the political squabble he ran away from. War wasn’t an option for him. Not when she already had a determined future. She would marry some southern lord. She would be queen. He would stay in Winterfell. 

Rickon was biting on his lip when Shireen came back in. Setting a tray of food next to him, Shireen took a seat on the edge of the bed. She speared a chunk of potato with a fork and held it up to him. Rickon sat up slowly and accepted the food.

“You’ve been thinking,” she said, gathering some vegetables on the fork.

Rickon chewed carefully before he swallowed. “I can’t make your father fight another war for you,” he said evenly. “Taking you would ruin everything he’s done so far.”

Shireen closed her eyes tight as she gave him another bite to eat. “I know,” she whispered. Slowly, she set the plate down on a nearby table before rubbing at her eyes. “I know… I would damage his war so much, and I have duties to him… But I want you, Rickon. You are the only person who looks at me like I matter, like you could actually love me. And anyone else will cast me aside. I need to know that I can be loved.”

Reaching out, Rickon held Shireen’s face in his hands. He brought her close and rested his forehead against hers. Rickon looked across all of her face, taking in every detail. He could see her eyes swelling with tears, and he pulled her in for a soft kiss. Shireen’s hands gripped at his sides, and Rickon deepened their kiss the smallest amount before separating from her. He kept her face inches from his. “I love you, Shireen.”

Shireen stretched out and quickly pressed a kiss to his lips. Rickon gave her a smile. “Can’t I marry you anyway?” she mumbled.

Rickon laughed and pulled her into a hug. “I don’t think so,” he said, stroking her hair. “But you can have me however you’d like.”

“As my king?” Shireen asked, trailing her fingers down his chest.

Carefully taking her hand, Rickon laced his fingers with hers. He pressed a small kiss to the tip of her nose before kissing her greyscale. “I will love you as my queen.”

Together, Rickon and Shireen spent the next few hours in his room. They shared the food and several kisses, lying across the bed and holding each other before Rickon wandered out for Shaggydog. Shireen followed him around the keep, and they found Shaggydog wandering through the gates. The direwolf was pulling a rope between his fangs, but he dropped the rope in favor of running up to Rickon and circling him several times before going to lick Shireen’s hands.

Rickon walked over to the rope Shaggydog was carrying and followed it back to a makeshift sled with a few trunks on it. Walking around the sled, Rickon spotted a few swords and other material from the camp. Not long after, Gendry walked over, carrying another sack across his back.

“I went to collect their materials,” Gendry said. “Burned all the bodies while I was at it.”

“Good thinking,” Rickon replied. He moved over to pick up the rope Shaggydog had dropped and pulled it over to the forge.

“I see you found your direwolf,” Gendry noted. “He nearly bit my hand off when I tried to help you into the keep.”

“He doesn’t listen to anyone except Shireen,” Rickon explained, nodding his head over to her. She was making slow circles in the snow while Shaggydog ran around her.

Gendry chuckled, bending down to separate out the steel from the rest of the materials. He tested a few of the blades’ edges before tossing them all into a bucket. Rickon watched as Gendry went through one of the trunks for other sources of steel. “Is it all right if I keep all of this?” Gendry asked.

Rickon was going to respond when he noticed that Gendry wasn’t asking him. Gendry was staring past his shoulder. Turning slightly, Rickon found Shireen at his side.

“Take whatever you’d like,” Shireen said. “I’m sure Winterfell needs the material more.”

“Thank you, milady,” Gendry said, bowing his head slightly.

“My name is Shireen,” she corrected. “And I expect you to call me so.”

Rickon noticed Gendry’s face flush just the slightest amount. “Yes, mil… Shireen.”

Shireen grinned up at Gendry. Rickon felt her grab onto his hand. “It took Rickon a while, too,” she said, giving him a smile. Turning back to Gendry, she asked, “What should I call you?”

“I’m just a smith, milady,” Gendry said.

Rickon suppressed a grin as Shireen stepped up to him. “I am not your lady,” she said sharply. “Now, what should I call you?”

“Gendry,” he mumbled out. “Gendry Waters.”

“Good,” Shireen said. She twirled around to face Rickon. Leaning up onto the balls of her feet, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see about preparing dinner.”

Watching her go, Rickon wondered how she could have such a familiarity at a new keep. Surely they weren’t all the same? Even having lived at Kingshouse, Rickon couldn’t manage his way around Winterfell.

“She’s _your_ lady, then?” Gendry asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“For now,” Rickon said. He let out a heavy sigh.

Gendry clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s better than nothing,” he said before turning back to the forge.

After a minute, Rickon pulled the makeshift sled into the keep, letting it sit in the middle of the hall. Then, he went over to the kitchens where Shireen was rummaging through a high cupboard. Rickon spotted the jar she was aiming for – just out of her reach – and made his way behind her to get it down for her. He placed it on the counter in front of her and watched her turn around to smile at him. Rickon loved watching her turn. He liked to watch her skirts flare out around her and settle with a brush against the stone floor. Shireen was smiling brightly at him, so he kissed her gently. She pulled away with a blush on her cheeks and roamed the kitchen again.

“What are you making?” he asked, watching her experimentally open a few sacks.

“Vegetables, apparently,” she said. “There’s little else that we can use.”

“Do you want me to go hunting?” Rickon offered. He leaned back against the counter, settling into the area. Even though Skagos had kitchens, it wasn’t nearly as large and didn’t have nearly as many utensils as Winterfell’s.

Shireen was unaffected by the numerous things about her. “You’re not properly healed yet,” she pointed out. Rickon watched her pull out some matches. “I can’t have you constantly injured.”

“I could send Shaggydog out,” Rickon suggested. He walked closer as she stuck a match and started a small fire.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Shireen said. She shoved a pan over the fire and went back to the counter, pulling out several root vegetables and slicing them up. Shireen moved slowly, making sure not to cut herself in the process. Rickon watched her carefully. He brushed her hair back every time it threatened to fall over her shoulders. Shireen glanced up at him. “I want to know you’re safe. At least for tonight.”

Rickon grinned, settling against the counter to watch her finish preparing their dinner. He was used to preparing meat and cooking it, but he rarely worked with other foods. Shireen was definitely far more varied in her food background. Rickon got lost watching her. When she told him to call Gendry in, he had to shake himself before heading out. After retrieving Gendry, Rickon found Shireen in the Great Hall, setting down plates for them. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her, Rickon went up to the throne at the center of the table. 

He had avoided the throne for his entire stay so far. Rickon knew that it was technically his to sit on as he saw fit, but he hadn’t even needed to be in this hall before.

“Why are we eating in here?” Rickon asked, placing his hands on her waist to pull her closer.

Shireen swatted his hands away. “So I can teach you how to treat your guests,” she said, launching into an explanation of how he should greet guests for dinner. Shireen pulled a laughing Gendry before the table to act as a lord for Rickon to greet, causing Rickon to laugh at Gendry’s fallen face.

After a couple minutes of this, Rickon flopped into a seat, pulling Shireen into his lap in the process. “We get it,” Rickon said, grabbing the plate nearest to him. “And we’re hungry. Let’s actually eat now.”

Gendry mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at him before sitting opposite them and eating his portion. Shireen made a small protest to continue until Rickon shoved some food into her mouth. Even she wouldn’t talk through eating, but she did give Rickon a small glare. Rickon stuck his tongue out at her before digging into his own meal. He wasn’t exactly sure how Shireen had managed to cook the vegetables, but they were amazing. Rickon found himself licking his fork clean after every bite. He didn’t even bother to stop himself from licking the plate clean as well, earning a laugh from both Shireen and Gendry. 

When they finished, Shireen pulled him down to the floor and circled him slowly. “We should dance,” she said, grinning at him.

Rickon scrunched up his face and stepped away slightly. “They don’t exactly teach Skagosi wildlings how to dance, princess.”

“Princess?” Gendry choked out after a swallow.

Shireen let out a groan and turned to Gendry. “Gendry, come dance with me.”

Gendry flushed a bright red and started to stammer out a reply, but Shireen pulled him to the open floor anyway. “They don’t teach bastards how to dance, either,” he finally managed to get out. “’Speciallly not with princesses…”

“Nonsense,” Shireen said, ignoring him completely. She placed one of Gendry’s hands on her waist and took his other in her hand. Rickon felt a spark of jealousy rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down and crossed his arms over his chest. With a dazzling smile, Shireen slowly led Gendry through a rotation around the floor. 

After they circled a few times, Rickon started to notice more similarities about them. They shared the same eyes – Rickon remembered that. But Gendry’s hair was just as dark as Shireen’s, even though it had a slightly different texture. They even held themselves in similar ways. _They could be brother and sister_ , Rickon thought. _They’ve the same look._

Rickon jumped down from the table and tapped Shireen gently on the shoulder. She turned away from Gendry, who had been staring at his feet. Rickon sheepishly held out his hands to her. Shireen gave Gendry a small curtsy before taking Rickon’s hands. Before she could place them, he possessively gripped her about the waist and pulled her flush against his chest. Shireen gingerly placed a hand in his and began leading them in circles.

While Rickon had grown to be quite good in a battle, his feet were not meant for dancing. He tripped over himself more than anything, and he worked hard to correct his feet. After a bit, Shireen leaned up to hum a tune into his ear, pressing his body in different directions. Rickon stopped paying attention to his feet, so he could focus entirely on Shireen. The melody she hummed was easy and gentle. Rickon had little trouble following her steps around the room, even though he wasn’t watching his feet.

Carefully, he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “And when do I get to kiss you?”

Shireen came to a halting stop before looking Rickon in the eyes. She cleared her throat delicately. “Whenever you’d like.”

Rickon grinned down at her, inclining his head slightly. “Can I hold you to that?”

“Yes,” Shireen said. Her face was flushing, but a smile seemed to have permanently found its way onto her face.

With all the care Rickon had, he gently reached for her greyscale, cupping it lightly. He tilted her chin up the slightest amount before pressing his lips to hers. He felt Shireen’s hand land on his shoulder and grip at his clothes to pull him closer. Letting go of her face, Rickon wrapped both of his arms around her back, closing any remaining distance between them. When Shireen slipped her tongue into his mouth, he started laughing entirely and she bit at his ear.

Rickon shook his ear out of her grasp and looked down at her. “And what was that for?”

Shireen smiled coyly at him. With slow, deliberate motions, she went back to his ear before nibbling on it and pressing kisses down his neck. “You’ve already kissed me everywhere,” she said in a hushed tone. “I’d do the same to you.”

“I was doing that to claim you, Shireen,” Rickon explained. He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Because I wanted you to be mine.”

“Then I should do the same,” she said, pressing kisses to his neck. “Because no matter what anyone says, you are mine.”

Shireen’s words ignited a new flame in his stomach. His heart was pounding again. Her words and her implications were far beyond what he should ever have from her. Rickon wasn’t going to deny his queen, though. He dipped his head down, hungrily claiming her lips. Shireen kissed him back with equal fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck and locking him against her. Rickon pushed her back with a kiss, releasing her enough to bend down and pick her up in his arms. Shireen’s grip tightened around his neck before she settled against his chest.

“You forget where we are,” Rickon said. He carried Shireen through the keep and back to his chambers.

“I thought we were in your castle,” Shireen replied, tracing her fingers against his neck. “Was I mistaken?”

“Missing the point, I think.” Rickon nudged open the door with his foot before stepping inside and shutting it. “We’ve a featherbed now.”

Shireen rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t need a featherbed, Rickon. I just need you.”

Rickon’s heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath before setting her onto the bed. Shireen never released her hands, and she pulled Rickon down over her before she began kissing him again. Grabbing onto her waist, Rickon tried to make his way to the laces of her dress, but Shireen stopped him.

“You’ve seen me already,” she pointed out. “I’d see you, as well.”

Rickon watched a small flush creep onto her face. He gave her a wolfish grin. “Would you?”

Shireen swallowed. “I would,” she said. “And as a queen, I would demand it. Amongst other things.”

Rickon leaned over her to kiss and suck at her neck. “What other things, my queen?”

Gasping under his touches, Shireen took a minute to respond. “Rickon,” she started slowly, causing him to pull away from her. “I would have us bedded.”

Rickon let out a heavy sigh, sitting up entirely. “You would have me ruin you.”

“Never ruined,” she said, sitting up next to him. “You could never ruin me. It’s my choice. I’ll be wed regardless. Let me have this while I can. Let me have _you_ while I can.”

“Shireen, I—” Rickon tried to argue with her, but she silenced him with a kiss. Her hands immediately began untying his shirts. Rickon kissed her back slowly, sifting through his thoughts. Once she managed to strip him from the waist up, he pulled back slightly. “You’re certain?”

With a soft smile, Shireen reached up to stroke his cheek. “I’ve never been more certain.”

That was all Rickon needed. He pulled Shireen as close as he could and pulled at the laces of her dress while she made quick work of his breeches. Slowing down their pace, Rickon trailed his mouth across her shoulders, reverently ridding her of her gown. Shireen glanced up shyly at him, looking through her eyelashes. Rickon considered stopping until she kissed him again. Her hands slid down to his hips, effectively removing the remainder of his clothing.

Rickon grinned against her mouth. “Looks like you had practice,” he japed.

Shireen smacked him across the chest, and Rickon grabbed her hand to press a quick kiss against her fingers. Then, he removed her smallclothes, leaving them both naked in his bed. Squirming slightly next to him, Shireen shut her eyes. Rickon pressed a soft kiss to her greyscale, and she looked up at him. Her eyes were twinkling in the low light of the setting sun, and Rickon was grinning at her like she was the only source of light in his world. While he needed no other light, Shireen seemed to be shivering.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll light us a fire,” he whispered. He edged his way off the bed and made his way over to start a small fire for them. Once the flames were blazing, Rickon slowly went back to the bed. Shireen was entirely bundled up under the furs. He smiled at her. “Are you hiding?”

Rickon watched her eyes roam over his fully exposed body. Then, he slowly crawled over her, leaving the furs between them. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Come out when you’re ready.”

Kissing Shireen, Rickon spent as much time as he could just watching her. Even mostly covered with furs, Shireen was a gorgeous sight beneath him. Her hair was a mess over his pillows, and he helped ruin it further by mussing it with his hands. After a few minutes, Shireen finally moved her hands onto his body. They slowly traveled down his chest and around his waist, finally resting on his hips. Rickon knew she’d be able to feel his arousal soon, so he shifted his weight onto his knees and lifted his hips from her. With a small sound of dissent, Shireen pressed her chest into him. She moved just far enough that the furs slipped down to her waist.

Rickon let his mouth follow over her newly-exposed skin. He trailed kisses across her collarbone, and her hands gripped at his hair. He had every intention of pleasing Shireen as he had before, but she pulled him back up for more kisses. Through the kisses, Shireen worked her legs out of the furs. Rickon pulled back slightly in attempt to watch her again. However, Shireen hooked a leg around his hips, half-rolling them onto their sides and pressing them closer.

Every thought vanished from Rickon’s mind and the only thing that remained was her. She was there. Shireen was with him. _She wanted him._ Rickon kissed Shireen soundly, waiting for her to react. With no obvious movements, Shireen slowed them down and slowly broke apart from him. Running her hand down his side, Shireen trailed her fingers tauntingly over his arousal.

“Did you…” Rickon was having a hard time getting his breath back. “Did you want to stop?”

Shireen slowly blinked up at him. He looked her back in the eyes for the briefest of moments before she wrapped her hand around him. Rickon choked out his breath and gripped at her waist. When he finally looked back to her, she grinned at him and whispered, “No.”

He kissed her hungrily, then, pulling her as close as he could. Shireen explored his body at a pace that was entirely too slow for him, and he rolled her onto her back. Settling over her, Rickon pressed slow kisses to her jaw. He paused to look at her eyes again. “Should I—”

“Yes,” Shireen interrupted. He felt her hand wrap around him once more before she positioned him properly.

As slow as he could force himself, Rickon moved into her. Almost immediately, Shireen winced. Rickon froze entirely. “I’m sorry,” he rushed out. “I didn’t mean—I thought that—Should I stop?”

Shireen had a hold on his hips, holding him inside her. “No…” she said, sighing. “Just… slowly.”

Heeding her advice, Rickon captured her lips again. He kissed her until she relaxed once more. Then, he slowly pressed further into her. He followed the pressure of her hands on his hips until he was fully inside her. Shireen let out a sigh, kissing his neck. Rickon paused at his deepest, relishing in the fact that she surrounded him now. She was warm, and, without having to worry about hurting her, he loved being fully inside of her.

After a few moments, he felt Shireen clench around him. His eyes rolled back and he had to steel himself before looking back down at her. Shireen was giggling, and he could feel the vibrations of her body _everywhere_. She ceased her giggles and rocked her hips into his. Rickon watched a devilish smirk cross her face as he reacted to her movements. When she did it a second time, he met her. Then, Rickon set about pressing into her as slowly and delicately as he could manage.

Shireen was all sighs and delightful hums beneath him. She stretched up to kiss him a number of times. Soon, she was meeting every one of his thrusts. Kissing her, Rickon sped up his pace. Then, Shireen began to sigh out his name, and he was utterly and completely lost in her. Shireen’s hands wandered across his back until they found his hair again. Rickon carefully held her shoulder blades and lifted her against his chest.

With a surprised yelp, Shireen grabbed onto his shoulders. Rickon laughed as he managed to switch their positions. Once she was sat over his hips, he stroked her sides and fell back to the pillows.

“And what am I supposed to do up here?” Shireen asked, crossing her arms. She let out a small huff, and Rickon could still feel those movements working their way around him.

“Whatever you’d like,” he said. “Though, I could probably make a few suggestions.”

With that, Rickon rocked his hips up into hers. Shireen braced a hand against his chest, and slowly, she began to love him back. Rickon stilled, letting himself stare up at her and running his hands wherever he could reach. Soon, Shireen found her rhythm, moving around him and tantalizingly rolling her hips into his. 

They moved together in the low light of his room. It wasn’t long before Rickon involuntarily moved into her, sending her slightly off-balance.

“You have to stop,” he warned. “I can’t…”

Shireen simply leaned over him, kissing him soundly. “You are not leaving me,” she said firmly, continuing to move around him.

Rickon helplessly moved his hands to push her away, but he found himself entirely incapable of doing so. Wrapping his arms about her waist, Rickon held her close as he spilled his seed inside her. Shireen slowed to a stop, kissing him all the while. Carefully, Rickon pulled her back onto the bed, moving out of her in the process.

“I suppose we should find you some moon tea tomorrow,” he said, wiping the sweat off her brow.

Shireen was silent for a few moments. It was long enough that she surprised him when she spoke again. “Will our children marry, then?”

“What?” Rickon asked, trying to sort through her question.

“When I have children, and when you have children,” she clarified. “Will my heirs marry yours?”

“Oh,” Rickon whispered. He pulled Shireen close as he organized his thoughts over the matter. “Not unless they want to. I can’t force my children to marry anyone. Not after this. Not after you. I’d have them marry for love.”

Shireen’s breaths were completely steady, and Rickon felt her eyelashes moving against his collarbone. She spoke a minute later. “Could I bear your children, then?”

“Shireen…”

“Then, you could be my king,” she said quickly. “I’d be forced to marry you if I had your children.”

“Shireen.” Rickon tilted her head up so he could kiss her again. “I’ll not make your ascent to the throne any harder than it already is. You need to go south and claim the Iron Throne. My place is in the North.”

“Oh, Rickon…” Shireen kissed him firmly on the lips before settling back into his arms. “You’ve already made my ascent the most difficult it could ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was going to be much shorter, but then everything got out of hand (and I totally blame Rickon), but whatever.  
> Let me know what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon and Shireen explore Winterfell.

Rickon and Shireen spent a majority of the next two days in bed. Oftentimes, they only left the room for food and other necessities, but they were always quick to return to each other and met with growing passion. Shireen talked her way out of locating moon tea several times, and Rickon found it hard to resist her demands. However, they both agreed to finally leave the room and learn more about the keep.

“Gendry probably thinks we’re crazy,” Rickon said, stretching out of bed and shrugging into his tunic.

“Gendry probably thinks you love me,” Shireen corrected, laughing. She was halfway in her dress, and she turned her back so Rickon could lace her gown. He went over and slowly managed the job. After he finished, Shireen turned in his arms and gave him a small kiss.

“He’ll have more reason to if you start growing a child in your belly,” Rickon pointed out, running his hands over her stomach.

Shireen scowled at him. “You can’t still be going on about that.”

“Yes, my queen,” Rickon said, rolling his eyes. “I have agreed to ruin you and risk your life in King’s Landing for the sake of our love. I have agreed to be foolish with you, and you demand that I ignore it. I shall oblige you, my queen.”

With long, slow steps, Rickon turned from an open-mouthed Shireen and left the room. She chased after him moments later, pressing him against a wall and kissing him fiercely. Rickon laughed against her mouth before he lifted her off the ground to make kissing her easier.

“As your queen, you must obey me,” Shireen said, running her hands down his arms. “Now, come. Let’s learn our way around the castle. I’m sure we could find a number of ways to occupy ourselves.”

“I can think of a few,” Rickon teased, fingering her waist.

Shireen squirmed her way out of his arms and took his hand, leading him around the castle. Rickon followed willingly, as Shireen glanced into several rooms to determine their contents. Rickon provided the answer when he knew them, mostly for the bedrooms that once housed his siblings. They had held up the best during the sack, and most looked as if they remained untouched over the years. Shireen left the rooms alone, shutting the doors tightly and giving his hand a small squeeze whenever they happened across them. After a few minutes, and a few other rooms, they found their way to the library.

“Must you always locate the books?” Rickon asked, releasing her hand to let her wander freely.

“Of course,” she replied. “This is where we can find everything about Winterfell.”

With surprising precision, Shireen quickly located a few books and set them on a table. Then, she took a seat nearby. Rickon slowly made his way over. This part of the keep had also been ignored by the sack. He assumed that the men who destroyed his childhood home weren’t terribly keen on the information it provided.

Rickon took a seat next to Shireen, and she immediately gave him a map of the keep to peruse. She pointed out several points to him, and he made a note to check their upkeep. They spent a couple hours in the library, and Shireen managed to locate writing tools to take down notes for him. When they finally left, Shireen led them back down to the forge.

“Must we announce that we’ve left our room?” Rickon asked, trudging through the snow.

“Not quite,” Shireen said. “Gendry is currently rebuilding the keep. I’m sure he’d love to know where everything was supposed to be.”

Slowly, they made their way to the forge, following the sound of metal on metal. The sharp clanging rang in their ears, until Gendry turned from his work and spotted them. “Milord, milady,” he greeted.

Shireen crossed her arms and glared at him.

He backtracked immediately. “Shireen… Rickon…”

“We’ve found maps of the keep,” Shireen said, holding out a paper for Gendry. “In case you wanted to go over them.”

“Thank you,” Gendry said slowly. “But I can’t read.”

“I could teach you,” Shireen offered. “I taught Rickon.”

Gendry made a face. “I don’t think it’d be very useful,” he mumbled out. “I’ve no reason to learn.”

“You could be one of Rickon’s men,” she countered. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the help very much.”

Rickon grabbed Shireen’s arm and pulled her back. He held her lightly as he gave Gendry the smallest shake of his head. “Gendry just needs to smith when he wants,” Rickon said. “He doesn’t need to do anything else. Let’s go continue exploring some more.”

Gendry gave Rickon a small smile, and Rickon carefully pulled Shireen from the forge and led her back to the main keep.

“You don’t want Gendry as one of your men?” Shireen questioned, following Rickon up a winding flight of stairs.

“It’s not that,” Rickon said. He paused, turning back to face her. “It’s just… his loyalties are elsewhere.”

“Not to House Stark?” Shireen inquired. “Then, why would he come to Winterfell? He’s from King’s Landing.”

“He’s… Gendry is awaiting my sister’s return,” Rickon explained. He took Shireen’s hands in his and brought her to the step he was on. Then, he slowly stroked her hair back behind her ear. “His loyalties are to her as mine are to you.”

“Oh,” Shireen mumbled.

“I’ll not force him to stay,” Rickon went on. “If he left at this instant to search for her, I’d let him go. I’m thankful for him here, but I’d be more thankful if he kept Arya safe.”

Shireen gave Rickon a weak smile. Then, she stretched to her toes and gave him a light kiss. Rickon returned it gently before leading them back up the tower. They finally emerged in the rookery, and a few ravens were squawking about the room.

“Ravens!” Shireen breathed out. Quickly, she went over to the where the ravens were and grabbed at the pile of letters. The ravens paid her no mind as she started reading through the letters. 

Rickon followed her, hovering over her shoulder. He tried to read the messages, but Shireen went through them too fast. He had to pick them up from her discarded pile and re-read through them a few times. Rickon had a hard time deciphering the writing of whoever had written it. Shireen’s handwriting was much neater. Rickon picked up a letter off to the side, finding a yellow seal on the back of it. He tore it open and began to read through it.

“Rickon!” Shireen shook at his arm, pulling him away from the letter he was holding. He looked back to her. “Several Northern lords and holdings have refused to declare for my father. This ‘Bear Island’ claims that they will only support a Stark. You have men, Rickon.”

“It says ‘king,’ though,” Rickon pointed out, looking at the small scrap of paper. “I don’t want to be king.”

Shireen crossed her arms. “I’m sure they’d follow any Stark on name alone,” Shireen countered. “You could call them. You’d have men.”

“And what would I do with men?” Rickon asked. “I’ve no wars to fight. No one’s even at Winterfell. There’s no reason.”

“They won’t go joining other causes.” Shireen uncrossed her arms and looked over another letter. “Don’t they at least deserve to know that their liege lord is alive?”

Rickon didn’t argue the point further. He simply huffed out a sigh and leaned onto the table by the window. Shireen seemed to take that as a confirmation and set about to find clear scraps of paper and a quill. She led Rickon downstairs to the maester’s chambers until she found them, and she settled at his desk.

“Lord Rickon Stark, then?” she asked, scratching at her chin. Shireen looked up at him excitedly.

Rickon give her a small glare.

“Would you rather be king?”

“I would rather have no titles,” Rickon said. He started strolling about the chambers. “But do what you will. I cannot stop a queen.”

Shireen giggled lightly and started scratching at the parchment. Rickon rolled his eyes at her, going over to browse the shelves and drawers of the maester’s chambers. He shuffled through some of the pouches and bottles, reading whatever labels were available. Rickon grabbed onto one of the pouches and made his way back over to Shireen. The papers were folded on top of the desk, and she was shuffling through the drawers.

“Do you know where the Stark seal is?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Rickon shook his head lightly. “I’m not sure what a seal _is_ ,” Rickon reminded her.

Shireen gave him a small smile. She reached out to stroke his arm. “It’s the symbol of House Stark,” she said. “It makes any note or message you send official—from a Stark. There’s probably one in your father’s—er, _your_ — solar. We should check before sending these off.”

Standing up, Shireen dusted off her skirts, gathered the letters, and made her way to the door. Rickon grabbed at her wrist to stop her. “Shireen, you should take this,” he said, pressing the pouch into her palm and closing her fingers around it. “Just… in case…”

With a confused look, Shireen opened up her fingers to examine the pouch. “Moon tea?” she guessed, raising her eyebrows at Rickon. “Rickon, I told you—”

“I know,” Rickon said. He took a deep breath. “But if you are carrying my child, and you’re taken south, then they’ll do anything to get rid of it. Or they could kill it later. I’ll not have our child murdered, Shireen.”

“Rickon…”

“Please, Shireen,” Rickon begged. He reached up to hold her face. “Use it, please. But if you don’t, don’t tell me. I couldn’t stand knowing that our child was killed.”

Shireen clutched harder at the pouch before leaning up to kiss Rickon. He stayed completely still against her, until Shireen pressed several quick kisses to his face. Once he started smiling again, Shireen pulled away. “I will never allow anyone to harm our child,” she promised. “But I will take the moon tea, if you wish it.”

Rickon gave Shireen a weak smile. Then, she kissed him a few times until he started laughing. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Rickon pulled Shireen closer, deepening their kiss. Shireen moaned against his mouth, and Rickon’s arms slid up her back. Laughing, Shireen pulled away.

“At least I know your concerns now,” Shireen teased, shaking off his hands and leaving through the door.

“Was it not obvious the past few days?” Rickon called, chasing after her. He circled down the stairwell until he caught up to her. Then, he swept her into his arms and carried her down the remainder of the stairs.

A bubble of laughter escaped Shireen’s lips, and she clutched at the letters and the pouch in her hands. Rickon paused at the bottom of the steps, kissing her deeply. Shireen settled against him, and Rickon hitched her up higher in his arms before taking them back to his chambers. He tossed her onto the bed before removing the objects from her possession.

“Do you intend to take me now?” Shireen asked.

“I intend to take you whenever I can,” Rickon corrected, leaning over her to capture her lips.

Shireen hummed against his lips. “And why is that?”

Rickon settled back onto the mattress, away from Shireen. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter. “It escaped your notice.”

Grabbing at the paper, Shireen read over it quickly. Rickon watched as her eyes jumped across the sheet several times before settling to go over the whole thing slowly. Her fingers were pressing into the seal when she finally put the paper down. “Ser Davos is coming,” she whispered. “Here. To Winterfell.”

Rickon simply nodded in reply. He reached for her hand and she gripped his in return. Shireen audibly swallowed before looking back to him.

“This could have been sent weeks ago,” she mumbled. She was searching his face, and her grip on his hand was tight. “He could arrive at any time. How long do we have?”

Shaking his head, Rickon lightly closed his eyes before looking back at Shireen. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But he’s coming for you, Shireen. He’ll take you south.”

\--

Hours later, Rickon rested in bed, stroking Shireen’s hair. He had given her enough time to send the ravens off before distracting her from everything else. Shireen had fallen asleep in his arms, and her light breaths were causing her chest to brush his ribs every few seconds. Rickon ran his fingers through her hair, watching the shine of it catch the colors of the setting sun.

Shireen gripped at his waist, causing him to pull back slightly. Then, he felt her eyelashes blinking against his collarbone.

“You okay?” he asked, moving a hand down to cup her chin.

Her eyes were shining and she looked a little frantic, but she settled when his hand swept down her body. “I’m scared,” she mumbled. 

Rickon felt her fingers kneading into the soft flesh of his back. He scooted down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He pulled her deeper into his arms. “Me, too,” he confessed. “I’m really scared.”

“What are you scared for?” Shireen asked. “You’re a king. You can do whatever you want.”

“A lord,” Rickon corrected. “And not whatever I want… You’re going to leave, and I’m worried that I’m going to… I’m worried that without you I’ll go back to how I was before—the last time I was in Winterfell.”

“You won’t,” Shireen said. She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “You have grown so much. You’ve survived so much. You can survive this.”

“I don’t think I can,” Rickon whispered. He felt tears threatening to escape his eyes, so he squeezed them shut. In response, Shireen wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her neck. Rickon held onto her waist. “I’m not good with people, Shireen. I bite. I yell. I’m not meant to do this.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Shireen replied. Her hand found his jaw, and she moved him to press a light kiss to his lips. “You will be a fantastic lord – or king. I truly believe that. Winterfell needs you, and you will not let them down.”

Rickon curled down and placed his head on her shoulder. Slowly, he dug his hands under her and squeezed her in close. “My name isn’t enough to rule,” he said. “What if I ruin everything?”

“Have faith, Rickon.” Shireen ran her hands in circles over his back. After a while, she began combing through his hair again. “You’ll know what to do. And you can always send me a raven to ask.”

Stretching up, Rickon kissed at her greyscale until she giggled. Rickon repeated the actions until she settled back down. “So you’ll just be ruling Winterfell from afar?” he asked. “And I’ll be your figurehead?”

Rolling her eyes, Shireen said, “No one can replace a Stark. You know that. I’ll just help when you need me.”

“So I can just summon you here?” Rickon asked. He was slowly evening out next to her, pressing kisses to her exposed skin.

“I’ll make my first task returning to Winterfell,” Shireen said. “We’ll have to see where everything else leads.”

Rickon pulled Shireen into a tight hug. “I wish the future would never come.”

“Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring on the fluff! Or... kinda fluff? Does this count as fluff? Either way, I want this to last forever.  
> Let me know what you think!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter.

It was snowing lightly over Winterfell, and its occupants were navigating their way through the snow carrying panes of glass. Shireen had been reading through Ned Stark’s documents, making lists for Rickon to keep track of and teaching him how to manage Winterfell on his own. Rickon paid attention to everything she told him, gathering the information and doing everything she asked. They rarely separated from each other, even when the other had things to tend to. Shireen had found instructions for repairing the glass gardens, and after finding the panes of glass, Gendry began the work on them immediately.

“We’ll definitely need to start growing food,” Gendry said, grunting under the weight of the glass. He set his end down on the ground before walking around to help Rickon support the other end.

“We can survive a few more months,” Rickon replied, relaxing slightly with Gendry’s help. Together, they lifted the pane vertically, sliding it against a tree to hold it in place. Rickon braced it while Gendry began work on the supports. Rickon didn’t know how Gendry knew what the instructions meant, but he was glad to have something else to do.

Shireen was continuously walking the length of the area, sweeping away most of the snow. “Not if your subjects start responding to the message,” she said. “I think that Winterfell could be bustling with people soon. Especially since winter is coming.”

“I thought it _was_ winter,” Gendry said, looking up from a plank of wood.

Shireen tapped her chin in thought. “Not quite,” she said. “The North has always been known for summer snows. Since the season is changing, they’re just likely to get worse. Either way, people will be coming soon.”

Rickon rolled his eyes, shifting the glass slightly and leaning against the tree himself. “What did you even put in that message?”

“You told me to put whatever I wanted in it,” Shireen said, as Shaggydog ran into the clearing. He brought with him a bunch of snow, shaking it off his pelt in the middle of the clearing. Shireen gave him a small glare before sweeping that away as well.

“I never told you to keep it a secret from me,” Rickon said. “I just know that you put Shaggy’s paw print on it.”

“The Northerners will know that a direwolf had to be present for it,” Shireen pointed out. “And everyone knows that the only remaining direwolves belong to the children of Ned Stark. It was a good call.”

“You’re just lucky that Shaggy let you put ink on his paw,” Rickon retorted. Gendry tapped on the glass to get Rickon’s attention, and together they put up the next wall of the garden. After it was in place, Rickon walked over to Shireen and twirled her around.

Shireen laughed, settling against his chest. “Your men will love it,” she said. “And you will hold whatever position you like, so long as you hold Winterfell.”

“And hold Winterfell, I will,” Rickon said. “It’s the only command you’ve consistently given to me.”

“Go help Gendry with the next pane,” Shireen said, bumping him with her hip. “He can’t carry them on his own.”

“If you insist.” Rickon leaned down to press a kiss to her greyscale. “I’ll be back soon.”

Rickon pressed another kiss to her hand before running to the storage area where they found the panes of glass. Gendry was already pulling a sheet of fabric off the glass and sliding it just far enough away to gain purchase on an edge. Together, they carried out the glass and made their way back to the clearing. In the distance, Rickon caught sight of Shaggydog disappearing out a gate. Then, he looked for Shireen.

“Where’s Shireen?” he asked Gendry.

Gendry looked around, carrying the glass over and bracing it against the other. Rickon was bouncing the entire time, ready to run off. “Rickon!” Gendry called loudly. “The faster we set this down, the sooner you can go. Pay attention.”

Rickon steadied himself, focusing on the task at hand. After the glass was in place, Rickon glanced over to Gendry who gave him a curt nod. Then, Rickon took off. He checked his belt for his weapons before inwardly searching out Shaggydog to follow. The direwolf wasn’t far, but Rickon could tell he was stalking after something. He entered a thicket of trees before he spotted Shireen in the distance. Slowing only the smallest amount, Rickon made his way over to her.

Shireen turned at his approach. However, she quickly turned back, letting out a sharp scream. Rickon sprinted the last few meters, drawing a dagger. Holding up a hand, Shireen signaled for him to slow down. She took a small step toward him, and Rickon could see that someone was gripping her other wrist.

“Release her!” Rickon demanded, falling in line with Shireen.

The grip on her wrist loosened slightly before grasping at her once more. Shireen let out a small sound. Then, a man appeared from the line of trees. He was haggard-looking and completely unkempt. His eyes were small and pale. He looked a bit familiar to Rickon, but he couldn’t place him.

“You’re the Baratheon girl,” the man hissed out, stepping toward them.

Rickon leveled his dagger at the man. “You will release her, or you will lose a hand,” he threatened.

“Now, I just came to get a look at the proclaimed Stark in Winterfell,” the man said. He had a lull to his voice that Rickon didn’t like. “But a Baratheon princess is a worthy prize to claim.”

Shireen let out small yelp, and Rickon sliced off the man’s hand. Immediately, Shireen staggered back a few paces. Rickon went with her, prying the severed hand off her wrist. Shireen’s dress was splattered with blood, and her hands were shaking. Behind them, Rickon heard Gendry enter the clearing. 

The man let out a deranged laugh. “Neither of you are Starks,” he cackled. “I still hold Winterfell.”

“You’re the Bolton bastard,” Gendry said. “Ramsay Snow.”

“I’m a Bolton!” he yelled back. Strands of saliva were flying from his mouth, and his skin was getting blotchier. “And Winterfell is mine. I married the Stark bitch for it. I am the king in the north!”

Before Rickon could react, Gendry did. His fist connected with the side of Ramsay’s face, landing him in the snow. Blood spatter pooled on top of the snow before staining it red. Gendry looked as if he was going to beat him to a pulp, but Rickon grabbed one of his arms to stop him.

“I am Rickon Stark,” he announced, stepping forward. Shireen grabbed onto his hand briefly before letting him continue forward. “I rule the North. With all the treason House Bolton has committed against Starks, I hereby strip you of all titles, claims, and holdings; and I sentence you to death.”

“I married a Stark!” Ramsay shouted back. “I rule here!”

“You married no Stark,” Rickon said, wiping his dagger off in the snow and sheathing it. “And I am the King of Winterfell, so you will die. Take him to a block.”

Gendry stepped forward, pulling Ramsay to his feet and into the courtyard. He threw Ramsay into the snow, leaving him to bleed out from his wrist while he went to fetch a block. Ramsay went to his knees, letting out hysterical laughter all the while. Rickon entered the courtyard brandishing his sword. Shireen was a step behind him, her hands in her skirts. Gendry returned a moment later, placing the block in front of Ramsay and pressing him into place.

Turning back to Rickon, Gendry asked, “Would you like me to complete the sentence?”

“No,” Rickon responded without hesitation. “His father murdered my brother and my lady mother. He tried to stake a claim to my home. He contributed to the sack of Winterfell. I will carry out his sentence and see him to his death.”

He looked back to Shireen. She was staring down at the spots of blood on the snow before she felt Rickon’s gaze. When she looked up, Rickon raised his eyebrows, seeking her approval. Shireen gave him a small nod. Rickon turned back to Gendry, and he pressed Ramsay into the block.

“Do you have any last words?” Rickon asked, hefting his sword. Ramsay began cackling again, and Rickon sent up his own silent prayer to the gods. Then, he brought his sword down on the back of Ramsay’s neck. The man slumped in death and his head rolled across the snow.

The courtyard was quiet for a moment, finally free from Ramsay’s laughter. Rickon turned away from Ramsay’s body, looking over to the godswood. After another moment, Gendry spoke. “Shall I burn the body?”

“No.” Rickon turned back to the decapitated man. “I want him to be strung up at the main gate. I want everyone to know that the Bolton bastard is dead.”

“Of course,” Gendry said. He took a deep breath. He reached out for Rickon’s sword. “I’ll see to it. You ought to see to her.”

Rickon looked back to Shireen. Her hands had steadied against her legs, but she still looked distraught from the recent happenings. Rickon gave Gendry a short nod before approaching Shireen. She was completely still, staring down at the corpse. Reaching for one of her hands, Rickon leaned over and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

“He deserved it,” she mumbled. Then, she looked up at him. “You deserved it, too. For your family…”

Giving her a gentle hug, Rickon stroked her hair. “Come,” he said. “Let’s clean you up.”

Shireen nodded against his chest. Wrapping an arm around her, Rickon led them to the godswood. It wasn’t until they were near the weirwood that Shireen seemed to notice where they were. “I thought you wanted to clean me up.”

“I am,” Rickon said, continuing straight on to the pools. “But it would take much longer to heat up water for a bath than to just step into the hot springs.”

“You mean for me to bathe out in the open?” Shireen questioned. She sounded slightly offended, but Rickon caught a small smile on her face.

“Only if you’d like a quick bath,” Rickon said, shrugging. “No one will see us.”

“Us?”

“I mean… I could join you if you’d like.”

Shireen giggled, stopping in front of the largest pool. “And they’re warm?”

Rickon nodded. Then, he began to strip down completely. Shireen was staring into the pool until Rickon splashed into it. Her attention shifted to him. He held out a hand to her. “Come join me.”

Shaking her head slightly, Shireen unfastened her cloak before unlacing her gown. Rickon grinned up at her, sinking into the water. With only her smallclothes on, Shireen dipped a toe into the pool.

“You’ll need to remove those as well,” Rickon said. When Shireen raised an eyebrow at him, he went on, “It’s not some ploy. They’ll freeze if you get them wet.”

With a small huff, Shireen quickly took off her smallclothes and entered the pool. Rickon opened his arms for her, and she moved into them. Rotating in the water, Rickon held Shireen tightly. After a few minutes, Rickon began combing her hair out in the water.

“Do you go underwater?” Shireen asked softly.

In response, Rickon released Shireen, holding her at arm’s length before submerging himself. Rickon broke the surface again, shaking his head in the process. He flicked his hair out of his eyes, splashing her in the process. Shireen laughed, dipping her head back in the water. Placing a hand on her back, Rickon held her afloat. With his other hand, he gently scrubbed at her scalp, combing out her hair again. Shireen hummed under his touch, reaching out for his waist and moving closer to him. Rickon smiled down at her, and a few drops of water fell from his curls onto her face. Shireen laughed, scrunching up her face from the water. Bracing her head, Rickon leaned down to press a soft kiss against her lips. Shireen smiled against his mouth, lifting a hand to hold him against her. After a moment, Rickon pulled away.

Shireen righted herself, holding onto his shoulders for support. “You called yourself king.”

Rickon sighed, slouching deeper into the water. “I did,” he replied. “It felt right at the time. I don’t know how it feels now.”

Shireen wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling her body flush against his. Rickon grabbed onto her hips, holding them away from his. Shireen pouted at him, hooking her legs around his waist. Letting out a small groan, Rickon moved Shireen further up on his body.

“You’ll take me any other place but here?” she asked, leaning down to press kisses on the side of his face.

Rickon caught one with his lips before responding. “In the eyes of the old gods, I believe that would have us wed,” he explained. “The Heart Tree is sacred to us.”

“Wed, you say?” Shireen started squirming against him.

“Shireen!” Rickon tried to move away from her, but she held on tightly, letting out a peal of laughter. Reaching behind him, Rickon unhooked her legs and held her completely in his arms. In retaliation, Shireen began to kiss him. Testing her weight in his arms, Rickon slowly pulled away. “You temptress.”

“Oh, am I?” Shireen asked, twirling a finger around one of his curls.

“Yes,” Rickon said quickly. Then, he lifted her as much as he could and tossed her further into the pool. 

Shireen let out a small squeal before being briefly submerged and coming up for air. In the interim, Rickon exited the pool, shaking himself off in the process. By the time Shireen came up, Rickon was fully in his breeches. Frowning, Shireen followed Rickon out of the pool, wringing out her hair. Rickon slipped on his tunic and his cloak. When Shireen attempted to hug him, he opened his arms for her and wrapped her in his cloak.

“Should I take you back to the castle like this?” Rickon asked, wrapping himself around her. Shireen twisted around, trying to bite at his cheek. Pulling away, Rickon tried to tuck her further in his arms. “Now, I’m not sure if you’ve tamed me, or if I’ve made you feral.”

Sticking her tongue out at him, Shireen squirmed in his arms until she was fully settled against him. “Did you consider that I’ve always been wild?”

“No,” Rickon snorted.

Shireen scrunched up her face at him, so Rickon pressed a kiss to her greyscale. Shireen began to pull away and move over to her clothes. She pulled on her smallclothes and underskirts before crossing her arms at the dress. After a small pause, she left it in the snow and pulled on her cloak instead. Rickon gave her a confused look, so she said, “I don’t want it anymore. Besides, the stain won’t come out.”

“But you’d look like a wildling queen,” Rickon countered, picking up the garment and folding it sloppily in his arms.

“Why must you talk about me as your queen when you refuse to marry me?” Shireen asked, walking up to him.

Rickon pulled her into a tight hug. “If you demand that I stay in Winterfell, and you must sit the Iron Throne, then we can’t marry,” he said. “We’d hold different positions.”

“ _I_ won’t sit the Iron Throne,” Shireen emphasized. “My husband will.”

Rolling his eyes, Rickon took her hand and began walking back to the keep. “All these stupid rules,” he muttered. “Will I be forced to follow them?”

Shireen gripped at the closing of her cloak, trapping the heat in. “I suppose you could change whatever you’d like if you’re king,” she contemplated. “Another position you refuse to take…”

“Your father would hate me for it.”

“He won’t fight you,” Shireen countered. “The North and the South can separate and still be on good terms.”

“Either way, I wouldn’t get _you_ ,” Rickon said, turning just before the door to the keep. He combed his fingers through her damp hair. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Shireen opened her mouth to protest, but Rickon kissed her quickly before entering the keep. Shireen gripped onto his arm, holding him while they made their way to the rooms. Bypassing his own room, Rickon went on to another that was just as massive. With slow steps, Shireen followed him in, releasing his arm in the process. Rickon continued on to a chest next to the bed.

“This is…?” Shireen started. She circled the room slowly.

Rickon was shuffling through a large chest. He glanced up at Shireen. “My lady mother’s chambers,” he said. Then, he pulled out some of the northern gowns.

“Rickon, you can’t,” Shireen called, rushing to his side and pulling on one of his arms.

“She’s not coming back,” Rickon said, placing a few gowns on the bed. “It’d be a waste for them to just sit here. Take one, or all of them… as a gift.”

Shireen let her hand slide down his arm. “Rickon…”

“They should be warmer, too,” Rickon went on. “Besides, it’d be nice to see you in a northern dress.”

Shaking her head at him, Shireen began running her hands over the gowns. “Is this where I’d stay if we married?”

“Oh, you silly girl.” Rickon pressed his chest to her back and wrapped his arms around her. “I’d not keep separate chambers from you. We’d either both stay here, or we’d both stay in the other.”

“It’s warmer in here,” Shireen mused, leaning her head back against him.

“Do you like it?” Rickon asked. He leaned down to kiss her neck. “We could stay here, if you’d like.”

Smiling, Shireen turned around until she was facing him. “I think I’m becoming accustomed to the cold,” she said. Then, she buried her nose into his neck. “And you’re quite warm yourself.”

Rickon laughed. “You’re welcome to steal my heat whenever you’d like,” he offered. “As well as the dresses. Now, go. Take what you’d like.”

Shireen smiled up at him. Leaning down, Rickon pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Kissing him back, Shireen wrapped her arms around him. Reaching up, Rickon stroked his fingers over her greyscale before digging them into her hair. Shireen broke the kiss giggling, and Rickon nudged her toward the bed. Slowly, Shireen looked over the dresses.

While she dressed, Rickon roamed the room, looking over all of the items. He was surprised to find that most of the belongings hadn’t been stolen or burned; they’d simply been shoved into small crevices and drawers. Rickon was running his fingers over a direwolf pin when Shireen cleared her throat behind him. He turned around quickly to find her in a woolen grey gown. Rickon felt his jaw drop.

“You did that on purpose,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. He placed the pin onto the table and crossed his arms.

Shireen spun around slowly. “Did what?”

Rickon crossed the room quickly, sweeping her up into his arms and covering her face in kisses. “You very well know what,” he said sharply before placing her on the bed and climbing over her. “Temptress.”

Holding onto his shoulders, Shireen pulled Rickon down to kiss him. When his hands started seeking out the ties of the dress, Shireen pushed him away. “I _just_ put this on.”

“You put this on for me to take off,” Rickon countered. “You can’t deny that.”

“I can try.” Shireen grinned at him. Rickon began pulling at the ties of the dress, and Shireen swatted his hands away. “I just put this on!”

Rickon roughly kissed her, biting at her lower lip. “You can put it on again.”

Instead of pulling off her dress, Rickon sought out the hem of the dress. He pulled it up until he found the waistband of her underskirts and pulled those off instead. Shireen shrieked when his fingers dragged down her legs, and she started kicking gently to help him remove them. After they were scattered across the floor, Rickon smoothed down her dress and sat her up, kissing her gently. Shireen pressed into him, trying to kick off her boots at the same time. Steadying her, Rickon pulled away.

“I actually had another idea for passing the time,” he said. Rickon grinned at her and offered her his hand.

With a skeptical look, Shireen placed a hand in his. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably.” Rickon gave her a light shrug before standing up and pulling her with him. He looked back to her and asked, “Is it too cold without the skirts?”

“I think I can manage,” Shireen said, brushing the fabric down. 

After a moment, Rickon led her back out to the courtyard of Winterfell. Over the past week, Rickon had become more accustomed to the layout of the castle. He easily found his way around the keep now, leading Shireen into the armory. Unsurprisingly, a lot of the weapons, shields, and armor were missing from the war, but there were enough supplies for practice. Rickon dropped Shireen’s hand by the door and continued inside. The only light in the room was coming from the doorway, so Rickon felt his way around the materials until he located a set of light armor. He carried it back to the doorway, stopping for a dagger on the way.

When he was finally outside again, he handed the dagger to Shireen and started putting on the armor. After tying a few straps, he looked up to Shireen. She had her eyebrows raised, and she was still holding the dagger in the exact same place that he had given it to her. Rickon paused to give her a look.

“What?” he asked.

Shireen raised her eyebrows further. “You still haven’t told me anything.”

“Right,” Rickon replied. Without giving her any further information, Rickon continued putting on the armor until he was fully strapped up in it. After adjusting it to his body, Rickon turned to face Shireen. She had crossed her arms and her lips were pursed, but she still managed to hold the dagger out flippantly. Rickon suppressed a laugh. “You’re going to practice.”

“Practice?” Shireen questioned.

“Yes,” Rickon said, as if it explained everything. “You are going to fully practice defending yourself.”

“Rickon, you’ve already taught me—”

“And it wasn’t enough,” Rickon blurted out. “Still, you are under attack. I was—you were lucky that Shaggydog heard what was happening. It was sheer luck that I managed to get to you in time. And I won’t be there when you go South. You need to protect yourself.”

Shireen was silent for a moment. She stared down at the blade, twisting it in her hands. Carefully, she ran her fingertips over the edge of the dull blade, tracing the outline of it. “Can’t you just keep protecting me?” she mumbled.

Rickon took a deep breath. “You know I would in an instant,” he said, stepping forward. Rickon gently touched her chin and lifted her face to his. “I will swear my sword to you. I will swear my life to you. Just say the word.”

Stepping into him, Shireen wrapped her arms around Rickon, hugging him tightly. “I want to say yes,” she whispered into his chest.

“Then, say it,” Rickon urged. “Say it, and I’ll never leave your side again.”

Shireen pulled away. “We can’t keep doing this,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “You know that. You stopped me from it.”

“I didn’t offer marriage,” Rickon pointed out.

“You wouldn’t stand back and let me marry someone else,” Shireen retorted, frowning at him.

Rickon bit his tongue and swallowed hard. He slowly reached out for her arms. “I would if you asked.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Shireen mumbled. She gripped at the blade, testing its weight in her hand. Rickon watched her carefully. One of her hands fisted in the grey fabric of her gown before she smoothed it back down. After a minute, she took a deep breath. “I may never be a Queen in the North… but I can protect myself like one. Teach me.”

The next couple hours were filled with lessons of slashing and stabbing. Rickon feinted at Shireen several times, letting her get used to the feeling of the blade in her hand. Then, he started teaching her more and more techniques, simple maneuvers that she could easily master. Even though Rickon encouraged her to attack him fully, Shireen always stopped her blows, occasionally pressing kisses to him instead. Through the giggles and laughter, Rickon felt that he had somehow managed to teach Shireen all he could to keep her safe. 

Finally, Rickon lunged at her, tackling her down into the snow. Shireen was breathing so hard that she could only shake her shoulders with her laughter. Rickon brushed her hair back from her face, letting his head fall into the snow. Adjusting the dagger in her hand, Shireen weakly tried to stab at him. Snapping his hand down, Rickon grabbed her wrist and pulled the dagger from her. With a small pout, Shireen reached for it while Rickon held it out of her reach. She let her hand fall onto his hip, and Rickon pulled her into his chest, letting her use his shoulder as a pillow.

Together, they stayed out, watching the snow fall over Winterfell until the light was too low to stay out any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was super excited about this one! Getting things rolling for the next arc! A little mixed about it, but some things just have to happen!  
> Let me know what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

The embers of last night’s fire were still glowing, emitting a soft orange light. Rickon and Shireen were tangled in each other’s arms, the sheets effectively tying them together. During Shireen’s stay at Winterfell, Rickon had devoted all of his attention to her. His nights had been peaceful, full of her presence and her company. Shaggydog still roamed the castle and the surrounding forests, but Rickon stayed out of his mind. He preferred Shireen’s company, even when the direwolf spent the nights with them. Because of this turn of events, he was entirely unprepared for anyone to be knocking on the door in the early hours of the morning.

Still, someone was definitely there. Rickon sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. It took him a few minutes to realize that it had to be Gendry. Careful not to disturb Shireen, Rickon left the bed. After covering her in the furs, he hastily put on a set of clothes before exiting. A slight chill hit him as he searched the hall. Gendry was a few meters away, pacing a section of floor. Turning with a look of conviction, Gendry seemed surprised to find Rickon outside.

“I was sleeping,” Rickon mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again.

“Sorry, m’lord…”

Rickon was too tired to try glaring at him. Instead, he yawned. “Well, what is it?”

“Men approaching,” Gendry reported. “From the south. No banners from the look of it, but I might just not know them…”

Twisting his mouth, Rickon tried not to look terribly peeved about the news. He knew it was coming. He chose not to be prepared for it. “So be it,” he said. “I’ll greet them.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?” Gendry offered.

“No need,” Rickon said. He sighed and turned back to the door. “Either way, it has to be done.”

Gendry nodded before walking back down the hall. Rickon watched him go before leaning his forehead against the door. He sought out Shaggydog, hoping that his direwolf had tried to warn him about the recent turn of events. Sure enough, Shaggydog was stalking the party. It didn’t take long for Rickon to recognize Ser Davos’s scent, leading a party of ten men. Rickon frowned. Then, he returned to his chambers.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Rickon buried his face in his hands. He was gripping his hair when he felt Shireen’s hand on his back. She traced a light circular pattern before rubbing it. Rickon twisted to look down at her. Immediately, her face fell.

“What is it?” she asked gently, sitting up.

Rickon closed his eyes and swallowed hard before trying to meet her gaze. “It’s time,” he mumbled. “They’ve come.”

“Northerners?” Shireen asked. Rickon could hear the spark of hope in her voice, and he could feel it tearing him apart.

“No, Shireen...”

“Oh.”

Slowly, Shireen crawled next to Rickon and curled up on his lap. Rickon held her close as long as he dared. Luckily, Shireen urged him to get dressed and prepare for the day. Without her encouragement, Rickon didn’t think he could face the rest of the day. As it was, Shireen helped him dress. He slowly worked through the laces of her gown, and he even went so far as to slip her feet into her boots. Shireen gave him small smiles the whole time; paying back each of his actions with kisses and touches. It took a while for them to be settled, but they eventually made their way down to the main gate. Gendry was in the process of opening up the gates.

Rickon quickly turned to Shireen, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with everything he had. Shireen responded to him, trying to slow down the fire that was growing inside of him. After a while, Rickon pulled away.

“I don’t care what any of them say,” he announced. “You are mine. And no one else can have you.”

“Rickon…” Shireen gently placed a hand on his neck.

“No one else,” Rickon repeated. “You’re mine.”

With a weak smile, Shireen replied, “Yes, I am.”

Rickon looked off in the distance and frowned. The men were approaching faster now; he could see their silhouettes on the horizon growing larger every second. “I should have dressed you in Stark colors,” he mused. “It would have served them well.”

Shireen gripped his hand tightly, stepping away the smallest amount. They were far too close together. Anyone who saw them would suspect their involvement, but still she stayed at his side. When the arriving party was close enough to see them, Shireen released his hand, holding hers together. Rickon tried to rest his on the pommel of his sword, but he felt himself fidgeting. Shireen saw his hands twitching and grabbed them again.

“Gendry,” she called. “See the men into the hall, and be sure to knock. We’ll await you there.”

Gendry nodded his reply, and Shireen pulled Rickon back into the keep. Following her, Rickon felt his movements growing more and more sluggish. Shireen situated him in front of the table before pulling on both of his hands to get his attention.

“I’m right here,” she whispered.

“For how much longer?” Rickon asked back. “They’re going to take you away.”

Shireen pressed them together before kissing him fully. Despite Rickon’s somewhat depressed mood, he responded to Shireen’s kiss. He gripped her waist tight, pulling her as close as possible. Shireen’s hand went into his hair, and Rickon moaned against her mouth before picking her up and placing her on the table behind them. Pinning her to the table, Rickon kissed her with as much intensity as he could, holding her close. After a few minutes, a loud knock came from the door. Rickon grumbled, but Shireen steadied him.

She sat up slowly, pushing off the table and combing through her hair with her fingers. “Tell them to enter,” Shireen said.

Rickon grunted out a mixture of noises. When Shireen raised her eyebrows at him, he made another small sound before calling out, “Enter.”

The doors to the hall opened, but Rickon was looking at Shireen from the corner of his eye. She was carefully adjusting her skirts, staring down at the floor. When she snuck a glace back at him, they held each other’s gaze before they both looked forward to the approaching party.

Ser Davos led in a group of ten men, who appeared rather annoyed at being here. Rickon suspected that they wouldn’t have come north if their king hadn’t demanded it. Rickon quickly looked over the men. There wasn’t anything particularly special about them. They were all of approximately the same age, wore the same armor, and bore the same sigil: the flaming heart with a crowned stag.

They all took the knee in front of the table, causing Rickon to bite back a snort. Shireen shot him a glare before mumbling quietly, “Rise.”

Rolling his eyes, Rickon repeated after her. “Rise.”

The men all stood, and Davos swept into another bow. “It has been too long, Princess,” he said. “You, as well, Lord Stark.”

Shireen smiled warmly at him, taking the few steps down to be at his level. Rickon knew that she was fond of Ser Davos and knew that she’d greet him warmly. However, one of the men snorted loudly and said, “Stark? He doesn’t look it at all. They’ve tricked you, Onion Knight.”

A few of the other men started laughing at that. Rickon watched Shireen bristle at the comment, pulling herself up to her full height to glare at the men. Before she could say anything in reply, Shaggydog walked into the hall. The direwolf looked truly massive whenever he was indoors, and his hulking figure easily caught the attention of both Rickon and Shireen. The men were still laughing until Shireen said, “Perhaps you should ask his direwolf, then.”

Rickon grinned as the laughter died down. Hesitantly, the men looked over their shoulders to find the direwolf directly behind them. Several surprised gasps and yelps sounded, and the men scattered away. Rickon quickly went down the steps in case he had to restrain Shaggydog. Luckily, the direwolf didn’t attack. With easy steps, Rickon stopped a pace behind Shireen.

“I see you’ve grown, princess,” Davos said. He opened his arms for her, and Shireen went willingly, giving him a hug. After a minute, they separated and Rickon watched Shireen take a small step back to settle surprisingly close to him.

“Very much,” Shireen replied. “The North suits me, I think. It’s lovely up here.”

Rickon watched Ser Davos narrow his eyes slightly, catching her implications, but he said nothing on the subject. Instead one of the men said, “Don’t suit me. I’ll be glad to leave the bloody north.”

“Soon, aye?” one of the men piped up.

“On the morrow,” Shireen replied immediately. A few of the men gave her startled looks, including Ser Davos. “Lord Stark has promised me a small feast for my departure, and I intend to have it. We weren’t aware of your arrival, though, so he must hunt today.”

Rickon mastered his expression so that no amount of confusion betrayed him. He just stood still as the men argued about the manner in hushed tones. Shireen kept her face schooled until they settled down.

“We do have another matter to attend to before the hunt,” Shireen announced. “A moment, if you will.”

With a small gesture, Shireen signaled for the men to stay in the hall and for Rickon to follow her. She left the hall through a door leading to the bedchambers, and Rickon followed her closely. Once he shut the door behind him, Shireen turned and pressed him against a wall. A moment later, she pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was filled with more aggression than usual, but Rickon welcomed the fire. He kissed her back, gripping her about the waist and pulling her as close as possible. Shireen moaned against his mouth, deepening the kiss and pulling her hands through his hair. When they finally separated, Rickon breathed out, “What did we have to attend to?”

Shireen was breathing heavily, continually stretching to kiss him. “I needed to kiss you.”

She succeeded a moment later, and Rickon accepted her fully. He hummed his assent against her lips. Shireen slowly wrapped herself further around Rickon, hooking a leg around his hips and pressing herself against him. Rickon helped her by lifting her up and spinning them around to press her into the wall. Shireen let out a small moan, rocking her hips into his.

“You know,” Rickon said between heavy breaths. “You shouldn’t have sent me off hunting today.”

Shireen kissed him hard on the lips before pressing kisses down his jaw. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and pulled away a tiny amount. “I just wanted another night with you,” she confessed. “I want you as long as I can have you.”

Rickon chuckled against her mouth. “Then, I should hunt quickly.”

Giggling, Shireen kissed Rickon a few more times before releasing him and stepping away. Rickon helped brush her hair back into place as she fixed her dress. Shireen was grinning the entire time, sneaking shy smiles at him.

“Do you want to keep Shaggy?” Rickon asked, touching her shoulder gently. 

“You should take him,” Shireen replied. She looked up at him. “That way you can be back faster.”

Rickon leaned down to capture her lips once more. He kissed her gently before pulling away. Finally, Shireen nudged him toward the door. Rickon kissed her again, pecking at her greyscale up until the moment her hand was on the door. As the door opened, he released her entirely and they walked into the room.

Ser Davos looked up at them, switching his gaze between the two of them. Rickon ignored the looks and walked straight over to Shaggydog. All the men in the hall were staring at him.

“Up,” he commanded. Slowly the direwolf got to his feet and stretched out. Rickon eyed the room carefully. “I ask that you stay out of the bedchambers. But you’re welcome to the rest of the keep.”

Davos nodded in agreement. “We shall preserve the Stark heirlooms as much as we can,” he said. Rickon gave him a curt nod and made for the exit. Just before he left he heard Davos say, “Shireen, we should discuss matters…”

Rickon forced himself to turn his back on that conversation. Shaggydog was already near the gate to the woods. He couldn’t even leave his direwolf to eavesdrop on them. Gritting his teeth, Rickon followed Shaggydog, hoping to make this hunt his fastest yet. He pulled out his bow prematurely in the forest, setting out with speed in mind rather than skill or precision. Then, he followed after his direwolf, hoping that there was prey nearby.

The woods outside Winterfell seemed softer than usual. For some reason, Rickon was having a hard time focusing on the hunt. His thoughts kept drifting, seeking out a way to stay with Shireen instead of preparing for her departure. Rickon allowed himself to slip into Shaggydog and allowed the direwolf’s hunting instincts take over. Immediately, Rickon was awash in the sensations of the forest. He could smell every track of animal, the different scents of the tree bark; he could hear the rustling of leaves, the crunching on snow. It was vastly different from his hunts on Skagos. Something had changed, but Rickon pushed the thought aside and let Shaggydog take over instead. He needed to hunt. He needed to get back to Winterfell. 

Following Shaggydog’s lead, Rickon moved through the wood, chasing down whatever scent they were following. It wasn’t until his bow was drawn and aimed that he realized what the prey was. Rickon stared at the animal for a few seconds before it hit him. He lowered the bow a fraction of an inch.

“No, Shaggy,” he said softly, putting the bow down. He looked back up at the doe. It hadn’t noticed him, and the scent of direwolf hadn’t yet reached her. Rickon found that he couldn’t look away from the doe. Somehow, it seemed fitting to him to have the sigil of House Baratheon wandering the forests of the North. Rickon smiled to himself. Because it was her. She belonged up North, and he wouldn’t be responsible for slaying her.

The doe regarded him briefly. Rickon let out a sigh and watched her move from the clearing. A thought picked at the back of Rickon’s head, and he couldn’t shake it. He had to let the doe – his doe – find safety. Even if it was away from him. He could only protect her for so long.

Grinding his teeth, Rickon went after Shaggydog, muttering to himself all the while.

\--

By the time Rickon had returned to Winterfell, the sun was high in the sky. One a short time had passed, but it was long enough to make him want to start counting the hours until Shireen left. He sent Shaggydog straight to the kitchens and was happy to find Shireen outside. She gave him a quick smile before releasing Shaggydog of his burden and asking that the Baratheon men tend to preparing dinner.

Rickon heard plenty of dissent from the men, but they obeyed nonetheless. Afterwards, he followed Shireen out to the yard.

“Ser Davos is talking with Gendry,” she announced.

Frowning, Rickon looked over to the forge. Gendry rarely left unless he was working on something, and Rickon was concerned. “Why?”

Shireen gave him a look. “Because he looks like me.”

“Not as pretty, though,” Rickon replied. He kicked at the snow, trying to regain his sense of comfort at Winterfell. He knew he couldn’t hold Shireen now—the men were far too close—and he knew he definitely couldn’t kiss her. He was only allowed her company and her words until they escaped to their room tonight. He tried to distract himself. “What did Davos want?”

Shireen pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. She didn’t meet his gaze when she mumbled, “I’m needed in the South.”

“For…?” Rickon prompted.

She swallowed hard. “An alliance.”

Rickon felt himself snarl, and he bit back the sound that was trying to escape him. Turning slightly away, Rickon remembered their short time together. He immediately turned back to her and placed a hand over hers. “I’ll offer myself to you.”

“Rickon…” Shireen pulled away gently. “My father also had to accept a betrothal. Without mine, he can’t move his army South. And it’s… there’s a sound reason to be wary.”

Knitting his eyebrows together, Rickon took Shireen’s hand and began leading her to the godswood. Before they were beyond the first line of trees, Shireen fell to her knees and a sob left her.

Rickon followed, wrapping his arms around her. “What is it? _Who_ is it?”

Shireen shook her head gently. “Rickon, it’s… My father is at the Twins,” she breathed out. “It’s the Freys.”

Stiffening, Rickon recalled all the history Shireen had taught him. After he had thought to ask, Shireen told him all she knew of his family and their deaths. He grit his teeth and bore the history then, thinking that it was past him. But if they were still here, _if they wanted her_ , then they’d have to go through him.

Rickon pressed a quick kiss to her hair. Shireen glanced up, and he did the same to her lips. Then, he stood, brushing the snow from his breeches. “I have to do something.”

Shireen grabbed his wrist to stop him. “What are you going to do?”

With a small smile, Rickon looked back at her. “I’m going to call my banners,” he said. “I had no reason before, but I will declare war on the entire _fucking_ South if it keeps you from the Freys.”

Rickon tried to move back to the castle, but Shireen grabbed at his arm again. “Rickon, stop,” she said firmly. “What is that going to accomplish? Even if my father fought the Boltons and dispersed their army, the North is still scattered. The North needs to know that it can trust you first—as their lord, their warden, their king. You can’t just call them down to ask them to go south again. Not when it’s not important.”

“It is important!” Rickon shouted back. “Keeping you away from murderers is important, Shireen, and I will not stand by and let this happen.”

“Rickon, you’re not thinking,” Shireen pressed on. She grabbed at him firmly, turning him around to face her. “The Freys only want the alliance if the crown is a result of it. Should my father lose the Iron Throne, I would be worthless to them.”

“You think that your father will lose?” Rickon questioned. “Even when he’s been through half the country?”

“I just mean that nothing will happen until then,” Shireen emphasized. “And if we get so far, things might need to be modified anyway. There’s no reason for you to go to war when there is still hope.”

Furrowing his brow, Rickon thought through it. She was right, as she usually was. It wasn’t often that Rickon second-guessed Shireen. Still, he wanted every possible chance at seeing her to safety. He remembered the doe from the woods and let out a heavy sigh. Rickon slowly turned from Shireen and began walking back to the keep. “Then, I must write a message.”

“For what?” Shireen asked, keeping pace behind him.

“A chance with you.”

\--

Dinner was a muted event for Rickon. The Baratheon men were rather irked about staying the night in Winterfell, and Rickon did his best to ignore them. They had prepared the meal just fine but not incredibly so. Even Gendry looked like he wasn’t quite in the same room as them. Rickon rested his head on a fist, moving the remainder of his meal around his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He felt like he was watching a funeral.

Shireen gave him a knowing look before leaning over to Davos and whispering something to him. There was some reply, and they both got up from the table, going down to the floor. Rickon watched on with mild interest as they called to the Baratheon men to start a song. After quite a bit of hollering and a few more glasses of wine, they began to sing in cacophonous low baritones. Then, Shireen and Davos began to dance. Rickon watched Shireen twirl about the floor, at ease as she usually was.

Before long, the men began to shout that they should have a turn, too. Rolling her eyes slightly, Shireen accepted the rotation of dance partners until Davos was next again. She stopped in her tracks, put her hands on her hips, and looked to Rickon. “Come dance.”

Rickon bit back a smile. She was already breathing heavily and her cheeks were flushed from the dances. Shaking his head slightly, Rickon feigned interest in his food.

Stomping a bit, Shireen went up to the table and held a hand out to Rickon. “Dance with me,” she said. Rickon could hear the command seeping into her voice.

“’eard ‘e was raised by wildlings,” a man slurred loudly. “Pro’ly can’t dance anyway.”

Shireen huffed and turned to face the man. “I taught him!” she called back. “Every lord needs to know how to dance for his lady.”

The men laughed loudly at that, leaning back in their seats and drinking even more wine. “Have him dance as he would with a lady then!” one called.

Shireen raised her eyebrows at Rickon. He smirked. She played a clever game, and he had to admire her gall. Standing up, Rickon walked around the table before meeting her on the other side and offering his hand. Shireen took it gently and walked down to the dance floor. They took their positions at the men’s commands, and Rickon whispered, “I hope I remember how to do this.”

“Just follow me,” Shireen replied, taking one of his hands and placing her other on his shoulder. Rickon set his other on her waist. As the men began singing again, Shireen started to press his body in different directions.

Rickon only tripped over his feet once before focusing solely on Shireen and surviving the rest of the song. When it ended, the Baratheon men clapped and Shireen asked him for another. A part of Rickon wanted to accept, to spend the rest of the night dancing with her. He knew he couldn’t keep this up, though, not when he wasn’t free to have her. Rickon pulled away despite Shireen pulling at his sleeve.

“I should rest,” he said, bowing slightly. “I’m afraid hunts take a lot out of me.”

The men laughed at that, but Rickon watched Shireen’s face fall slightly. “The little lord is tired,” one of the men called. “I’ll dance with you, princess!”

With a weak smile, Rickon watched Shireen go back to the dance floor. Then, he left to his chambers. Rickon set about to untying his shirts, crossing the room to the far window. With his shirts loosened, Rickon opened up the window. The cool air swept over him, permeating the entire room. Out in the snow, Rickon watched Shaggydog wandering the yard. The direwolf sniffed at the ground absently, giving half-hearted chase to some of the falling snowflakes before falling into the snow.

Closing the window, Rickon went back to the room, kicking off his boots in the process. With a heavy sigh, Rickon went to set a fire, hoping that Shireen would appreciate his efforts. He took a seat before the fire and stared blankly into the flames, watching them splinter the log. From behind him, Rickon heard the door open and close. After waiting a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder to find Shireen standing just behind him.

“I never expected to come back here,” Rickon admitted. He stood slowly, turning to face Shireen. “After I watched Winterfell burn, I thought I’d live out my life as a wildling. I didn’t want to come back. Winterfell had nothing to offer me.”

“Rickon…” Shireen stepped forward, taking one of his hands.

“There’s nothing for me here without you, Shireen,” Rickon went on. “I don’t want Winterfell if I can’t have you.” Rickon moved into Shireen, sliding a hand into her hair. He stroked her greyscale gently before bringing their lips together. Shireen pressed into him, holding onto his hips and pulling him closer.

Shireen hummed against his mouth, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Rickon willingly deepened their kiss, holding her close. Shireen pulled away from him slightly, and then she began tugging him toward the bed.

Rickon took one step forward before stopping himself. “Shireen,” he called, pulling her back. She turned slowly, giving him a confused look. Rickon reached out for both of her hands, squeezing them tight. “Marry me.”

Blinking up at him, Shireen seemed to be taken aback. “What?”

“Marry me, Shireen,” Rickon repeated. “I’ll go with you. I’ll tell your father that I married you. I’ll go south. Let me be your king.”

Watching her, Rickon saw her eyes fill with tears. She blinked and one fell down her cheek. Rickon lifted a hand to brush it away. She didn’t say anything, but Rickon saw her swallow.

“I’ll take you to the godswood right now,” he went on. “I’ll promise myself to you, I’ll wrap you in my cloak, I’ll give you my name… carry you back to our room…”

Shireen caught one of his hands and held it to her face. “Rickon, we can’t…” she choked out. He could hear her voice cracking. “Regardless of my betrothal, I could never ask you to go south. You don’t belong there, Shaggydog couldn’t survive… Starks don’t belong in the South. It would ruin you. I could never do that to you.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Shireen pulled him into a tight hug. The shock of her words was still sweeping over him, but Rickon still returned the hug. He stroked her hair gently, holding her to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Then, Rickon picked her up and carried her to the bed. Shireen hiccoughed, looking up at him. Slowly, Rickon kneeled down and began unlacing her dress. Shireen ran her fingers through his hair, catching on a few knots in the process. When Rickon looked back up at her, she was smiling at him.

Moving over her, Rickon kissed her slowly, pressing her into the bed. Only their loosened clothes were between them, and their quickening breaths were the only sounds save for the crackling fire. Shireen’s hands sought out the inside of his shirts before pulling them off. Dipping his head down, Rickon kissed at her neck, removing her dress at the same time. He moved his mouth over her body, dragging his tongue over her skin. Shireen let out a moan, and Rickon shushed her softly.

“They’re going to hear you, princess,” Rickon said through a smirk. He looked up at her briefly before continuing his way down her stomach.

“I don’t care,” Shireen mumbled, running her hands through his hair.

After pulling the dress off her legs, Rickon slowly moved back up, stopping at her neck to kiss her there. His hands trailed down her arms before kneading at her breasts. Shireen wrapped her hands around his back, pulling him closer. When her hands hit his breeches, Shireen grumbled before untying them quickly. She slipped them off before pressing their bodies flush together. Rickon groaned, feeling her so close.

“They’re going to hear you,” Shireen whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

“Well, that’d be the point,” Rickon replied, climbing over her.

Shireen squirmed back into the pillows, holding open her arms. Rickon fell over her, burrowing his nose into her neck. He set about to kissing her, and she responded in full. Shireen’s hands traveled up and down his back, trying to press him closer. Rickon held her tight, finding her tongue with his and sweeping the inside of her mouth. Letting out a small sound, Shireen wrapped her legs around his hips before rocking into him. Rickon laughed, pausing the smallest amount to stare down at her.

“I want you, Rickon,” Shireen said, trying to get him in of her own accord. Rickon didn’t help in the slightest. He just watched her squirm underneath him. Eventually, Shireen just slumped down and glared at him. “We don’t have all night.”

Rickon rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Because I had no intention of sleeping tonight.”

Shireen stretched up to kiss him, pulling him back down to the pillows. Then, Rickon slowly pressed into her, easily filling her. Gasping beneath him, Shireen reciprocated the motion. They kissed as often as possible; their bodies rolling together with the familiar motions they discovered during their time at Winterfell. They moved together as effortlessly as experienced lovers, knowing how to please the other.

Rickon watched her move beneath him, digging his hands into her hair and holding onto her hips. Without slowing his pace, he leaned over her to press kisses to her collarbone until she demanded that he return to her mouth. Shireen giggled beneath him, running her hands down his chest.

Rickon poured his adoration into her until they were both spent, breathing heavily and collapsing on the bed. Shireen still rolled into his chest, using his shoulder as a pillow and hooking her leg over his. He let his fingers travel lightly over her shoulders, relishing in the feel of her skin. She was breathing lightly in his arms, and only the brush of her eyelashes let him know that she was awake.

Taking in a deep breath, Rickon squeezed his eyes shut. “I will go South,” he said. “If you ask me to.”

Shireen moved onto her elbow, looking at him. She was frowning, but Rickon was distracted by her messy, knotted hair. He set about to combing his fingers through it gently. After a minute, Shireen said, “You know I can’t do that, Rickon.”

“Yes, you can,” Rickon replied. He kissed her gently. “You’re the queen.”

Laughing, Shireen leaned into him, falling onto his chest. Her fingers made swirls against his skin. “I’m not going to ask you to go South,” she said slowly. “It would destroy you… Every Stark that has gone South hasn’t made it back… Starting with your aunt Lyanna, and your uncle, your grandfather, your father, your brother, your mother, your sisters… I couldn’t ask it of you.”

“But they weren’t raised by wildlings,” Rickon countered.

“I think that just makes you more Northern,” Shireen retorted.

“I’ll still go,” Rickon offered.

“I won’t ask you to,” Shireen said. She leaned forward to press a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.”

Squeezing Shireen close, Rickon bowed his head to hers. She was no longer teary, and he knew from the set of her jaw that she wouldn’t budge on this. He took in her face, memorizing it in its entirety: the fall of her hair, the blue of her eyes, her long eyelashes, the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the soft flesh of her unblemished cheek, and the firmness of her greyscale. It was all her, and he wanted it to be his. Rolling them onto their sides, Rickon took her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. Slowly, he brought her lips to his for a brief moment. “I love you, Shireen.”

It took for several more bouts of passion to wear them out to the point of sleep. Rickon stopped asking for her hand in marriage, and they settled into the sheets with the moon high in the sky.

\--

Exhaustion was still consuming Rickon’s body when he started to wake. He took slow, deep breaths without opening his eyes. He didn’t want to face the day—not when he knew what it held. Involuntarily, Rickon stretched his arms across the bed, searching for Shireen. His hands came back empty and he woke with a jolt. 

His bed was empty. The fire had died down entirely. Shireen was nowhere to be found. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and Rickon jumped out of bed, racing to the window. He didn’t have any sort of view of the main gates to Winterfell, but he could hear horses whinnying and small clops of hooves. Rickon was frozen to the spot, despite his racing heart. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t breathing. He was entirely focused on any evidence of their departure. There was a small period of nothing, and then he heard several horses moving at once.

Immediately, Rickon raced across his room, pulling on his clothes as quickly as possible. He paused at his desk briefly, pulling on his boots, when he noticed a note. It was the note he’d written yesterday, sealed with the Stark sigil. Next to it was a small bit of paper. He easily recognized Shireen’s writing. Slowly, he picked it up to find five words:

_I’m sorry. I love you._

Rickon swore, grabbing blindly at the desk and stuffing the contents into his pockets. He grabbed a cloak as he sprinted from the room, whistling loudly for Shaggydog. Tearing through the keep, Rickon slammed open the main doors to find Shaggydog waiting patiently outside. Gendry was still standing in the yard, looking out at the retreating party. He turned, giving Rickon a confused look.

“The princess… Shireen said you didn’t want to see them off,” Gendry said.

“Well, I can’t say she was wrong,” Rickon said. Shaggydog dipped his head down, and Rickon jumped onto his back. Without another word to Gendry, he dug his hands in Shaggydog’s pelt and they took off sprinting toward the Baratheon party and, more importantly, Shireen.

Having never properly ridden the direwolf before, Rickon was shocked to find that it was so easy. Shaggydog was just a little bit smaller than a horse but easily had more muscle in his limbs. Rickon could feel the power resonating through the direwolf, coursing through him as they chased after the party. Without a thought, even without the supports that horses had, Rickon easily navigated the landscape while atop Shaggydog. In no time at all, he was closing in on the party.

A few of the men heard his approach, turning in their saddles and looking positively frightened. Rickon could only imagine the sight he looked atop the direwolf. Shaggydog chose that moment to let out a loud bark, causing most of the horses to buck up. The men struggled with their horses, trying to keep their seats. Shireen turned at the sound, but her mount stayed steady up until the direwolf stopped at its side. Then, her horse stomped about.

“Rickon?” Shireen questioned, giving him a surprised look. “How did you catch up to us?”

“It’s that bloody wolf,” one of the men called. “Shouldn’t be allowed to ride those…”

“Lord Stark,” Davos said loudly. He was giving Rickon a suspicious look, and Rickon knew why. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Rickon glanced sideways at Davos before turning back to Shireen. “A word, if you would,” he said. He was still breathing hard, but he tried to calm his nerves. Noticing the looks the men were giving him, Rickon hastily added on a “Your Grace.”

A moment passed. Then, Shireen dismounted, handing out the reins of her horse to Davos. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Princess…” Davos started. Rickon could hear the protests growing.

“Go,” Shireen said firmly, fixing him with a hard look. It didn’t take long for the men to move further down the road. Once they were out of earshot, Shireen turned back to Rickon.

Rickon slid off the direwolf, landing somewhat poorly on his left foot. His bent down to fix the boot, having done an inadequate job of it earlier in his haste. He looked back to Shireen, suddenly nervous about being next to her. She had him fixed with that stare, and he could feel her power radiating off her. He smiled to himself. _Hers is the fury,_ he thought.

“Rickon…” Shireen started, softening a bit.

Quickly, Rickon went through his pockets for the message. He held it out to her. She automatically opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. “Please,” he begged. “Deliver this. Don’t make me ask one of your men to do it.”

Shireen frowned slightly, but she held out her hand for the letter. Rickon carefully placed it in her hand, not letting go of her hand. “I suppose there’s more?” she asked softly.

Rickon shoved his hand in his other pocket, meaning to jest with her. However, his hand hit a bit of cold metal. He pulled it out, looking down at a direwolf pin. He took a tentative step forward, and Shireen craned her neck to see what it was. Rickon brushed her hair over her shoulder before pinning the direwolf to the collar of her gown. Shireen gave him a coy smile, blinking up through her eyelashes. Lifting his hand, Rickon reached for her greyscale. A spark of pride rose in his chest, knowing that she’d no longer flinch from his touch.

“Anything else?” Shireen breathed out, leaning into his hand.

“Yes,” Rickon replied gently. Inclining his head, Rickon took her lips for a short time before releasing her. Shireen lunged at him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. Rickon fell against Shaggydog, being forced to check his balance. Chuckling, he pulled away slightly. “They’re going to see us.”

“Let them.” Shireen kissed him wholeheartedly, pressing against him. Rickon pressed her back before breaking their kiss. Her gripped her about the waist and lifted her to sit atop Shaggydog. Then, he jumped up behind her. “Rickon!”

“I’m not going to make my queen walk back to her men,” Rickon said, holding her waist. “Besides, I’m going to need to leech off her power to stay in Winterfell.”

He could practically feel her rolling her eyes. As Shaggydog began to walk, Shireen said, “You had a reason before you met me. What was it? What made you leave Skagos?”

Rickon chuckled. “I told Osha that I’d give it to the wildlings and let her have Winterfell.”

Shireen threw her head back, laughing loudly. “Still a good reason, I think,” she said.

“It’d still be better with you as my queen,” Rickon replied, pressing a light kiss to her neck. “But you keep telling me not to follow you.”

“Don’t,” Shireen said firmly. “I demand you to stay here. Protect the North. Give them a leader they deserve. I’ll write to you. I promise.”

They were fast approaching the men, so Rickon agreed, leaning against her as much as he could. The Baratheon men stopped at their approach, watching Shireen with amused expressions. Rickon led them as close to her horse as possible.

“She looks like a wildling queen,” one of the men japed. “She’s been in the North for too long.”

Shireen gave Rickon a knowing look, and he grinned back at her before sliding off the direwolf. He reached up for Shireen, helping her off Shaggydog’s back. During their momentary cover from the Baratheon men, Rickon gave her another quick kiss. He held her as close as he dared, feeling the finality of the moment on him. His chest started to feel heavy, and his vision blurred slightly. With a small cough, Rickon cleared his throat. Then, he helped her onto the horse.

“I will see you again,” Rickon promised, extending his hand. His eyes were prickling with tears, and he made no effort to hide them now.

A flush crept onto Shireen’s face, but she took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’ll come back to you,” she whispered. Rickon could hear the promise in her voice, and he committed it to memory. “Goodbye, Rickon.”

“For now,” Rickon pointed out quickly, his voice catching.

“For now,” she agreed. Then, she bumped her horse with her heels and rode off in front of her men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for everything.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so freaking mad about the recent happenings that you're getting this early. Come scream about how telling things are on my [tumblr](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com) if you want. We can create happy headcanons together, and then I'll write fic for them.

Although Rickon thought that everything would end without Shireen, life went on. He didn’t. Rickon spent days moping around Winterfell. He gave half-hearted attempts at continuing on as he had before, but everything felt wrong without her. Gendry tried to breach the subject once. The moment he said her name, Rickon snapped at him and left to hide in the crypts. Rickon felt like he belonged there anyway, so he curled up next to Shaggydog in the dark and spent the remainder of the day there. Trying to reconcile his self to the fact of the matter didn’t help either. He tried to talk himself though it several times, but he could never make it through.

Life at Winterfell became a dull, colorless void. Everything had lost its appeal, and there was nothing that could spark the joy into his life again. Rickon must have wandered the entire keep several times, searching out anything that remained of hers. He sought her presence everywhere, looking for signs that she was still there. Nothing remained.

In an attempt to get some sentience of comfort, Rickon turned to Shaggydog. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Shaggydog’s pelt was the same color as her hair, and Rickon latched onto that small connection. Without purpose, Rickon stayed at the direwolf’s side. Together they went through the motions of life. However, Rickon was becoming more and more consumed by the thoughts of the direwolf as life went on. He started referring to things in a rudimentary fashion. He started thinking in terms of survival again. And he felt the loss of the powerful women in his life.

As much as he longed for Shireen, Rickon had had her. He knew her. But, more importantly, she had known him. She listened. She understood. Shireen helped him grow as no other had. She refused to speak down to him or treat him like a child, and he had respected her all the more for that. Beyond his immense attraction to her, he knew that she was clever, smart, independent, and capable. She even asked to learn how to use his knife to defend herself. Reflexively, Rickon checked his boot. He was still down a blade. Rickon found himself smiling. Shireen still had his knife—the one he made for himself.

With a sigh, Rickon slumped down. He was in a deserted corridor of Winterfell. He couldn’t recognize this part of the castle, and he had no idea how he got here. He tossed his head back lightly, aware of the stone wall behind him. He wanted his mother.

No. He wanted Osha. Regardless of how relentlessly Osha would have teased him and japed to him about wanting to chase skirts, she would have been with him through this. She would have held him, kept him going, made sure that he survived it. It had been a long time since Rickon longed for a mother’s comfort, but that was because Osha had given it to him without question. He never needed to seek it out. He always had it when he needed it. 

Except for now.

Now, he had nothing. Nothing but an empty castle, a smith, and a direwolf to keep him company. Letting out a loud groan, Rickon stretched out on the floor before curling up. He blinked up at the stone walls, studying the pattern of the stones before drifting off.

\--

“Alright, get up,” someone called loudly.

Rickon groaned, wiping at his eyes. He moved slowly until he realized that he was on his bed. Frowning, Rickon looked around. The sun was up, but he had no idea how many days had passed. His room was as it had always been, except Gendry was standing at the door. His arms were crossed and he was frowning at Rickon.

“Your direwolf was dragging you around the keep,” Gendry said. He walked into the room with his arms crossed. “I had to bring you back here before he dragged you up and down the stairs.”

Knitting his eyebrows, Rickon looked over to Gendry. Shaggydog wasn’t in the room, and it was colder than usual. He missed Shireen. With a small sound of dissent, Rickon fell back to his bed, planning on sleeping for the rest of his life.

“Get up, Rickon,” Gendry called again, going so far as to pull the sheets of Rickon.

“Just leave me alone,” Rickon growled out, rolling further away. He heard Gendry sigh before a large mass of water hit him in the face. Jumping up, Rickon tried to wipe the water off quickly. “What the—?”

“Shireen told me to,” Gendry said quickly, stepping out of reach.

Rickon froze, looking to Gendry. He was incredibly confused. “What?”

“Before she left,” Gendry clarified. “She told me that you only get to mope around for three days. Then, you have to get back to work. I gave you four, so you should be thanking me.”

Turning to the open window, Rickon ripped off his soaking shirts. He tossed them at the foot of his bed. Rickon searched about for another before giving up the cause and lying back down on the bed. “There’s nothing to do anyway.”

A small _thump_ came from beside him, and Rickon rolled over slowly. Next to him was the small book that Shireen had written for him documenting the sack of Winterfell. Rickon skimmed his fingers over the cover of the book and flipped over to the page where he added her name. With a heavy sigh, Rickon turned his back on the memory and closed his eyes tight.

“She said you should read that,” Gendry said loudly. “But I guess that’s only if you still want to listen to her.”

Rickon rolled over slowly, watching Gendry leave the room. He rubbed at his eyes slowly before finally grabbing the book. He placed it over his stomach, just holding onto it. He thought about how she must have written it in between all their times together at Castle Black. He never suspected that she was doing it, so she must have been quite secretive about it. Sitting up, Rickon carefully opened up the book, determined to read each detail about his life that she knew.

The story went exactly as he expected. Shireen hadn’t omitted a single detail that he provided. She painted a gorgeous picture of the crypts of Winterfell and his companions of the journey. Rickon got lost in the words, feeling the familiarity of her voice behind them. It comforted him and it pulled him forward, making him read more. He hadn’t expected all the lessons Osha taught him to be in here, but there were detailed descriptions of the hunting techniques. She even included the few conversations that Rickon told her about.

Once he got to the segment about Skagos, he found that her writing had changed. It took him a few pages to realize that only his name was changing. It started to lack the strict formation of all her other letters. The lines were sloping more, and the curves seemed curlier somehow. To make sure that he wasn’t imagining things, Rickon flipped back to the beginning of the book, comparing her writing of his names. Sure enough, there was a definite change. Rickon didn’t think that anyone else would have noticed. It was subtle, but it was definitely there. 

He read through the remainder of the book paying particular attention to her penmanship. He spied no other differences save for his name throughout it. He finally reached a page documenting his time at Castle Black and intentions of returning to Winterfell, he paused. The next page over was completely blank. He sought out the last time she wrote his name and compared it to the first.

Anyone would notice that. There was definitely something fundamentally different about how she had decided to write his name. He stared at the last page for a few minutes, finding his names on it, and playing spot-the-differences between the few of them. He took a minute to appreciate her gift: all the effort she put into it and the care she had taken to give it to him. He flicked at the corner of the book, still staring at her writing. On one flick, he glanced up to his fingers and he noticed more ink behind it.

Eagerly, he turned the page, finding even more writing. He paid special attention to her writing now.

_This was all the information provided to me regarding the sack of Winterfell and the return of Prince Rickon Stark. His story is not over, and I hope it is a long one—full of happiness and joy. Below are the notes from which this story was built, every shred of evidence provided to me from Rickon Stark._

As promised, scattered snippets of her writing spanned the next few pages. Lines were circled and arrows drawn all about the pages. There were even numbers hastily scribbled out and re-written a few times along the edges. Rickon read over them briefly, focusing on her sloppy writing, though it was entirely devoid of his name. However, a small corner of a page caught his eye.

It was the only instance of his name, as far as he could see, on the pages of notes. But more interesting to him, was the name written directly below it: her name. Next to it, another word had been crossed out. He brought the book close to his face to read under the strikeout. Then, he couldn’t stop grinning. He read over those two words multiple times before the meaning truly sank in.

_Shireen ~~Stark~~_

He ran his fingers over the letters, and his eyes filled with tears. Rickon smiled at the book—at the permanent reminder of her love. He held the thought close. It was here. It was tangible. He could reach out and touch it. He could remind himself that she had penned those words of her own accord, even before he knew that she felt that way. Rickon clutched the book tight to his chest, holding in the feeling as long as he could before he forced himself to turn the page over.

There were only two more pages of notes before he hit another blank. With a sigh, Rickon turned that page, too. He wasn’t expecting to find anything beyond that page, and he was mostly right. The next page appeared to be completely blank, but upon further investigation he found that the page was loose. Rickon furrowed his brow, pulling out the page. It was folded neatly. He completely removed it from the book, closed the book carefully, and unfolded the paper. Then, his tears flowed out freely.

_Rickon,_

_First and foremost, I hope this finds you well. I do hope you aren’t moping about Winterfell anymore. It would be such a waste for you. I know this is hard—it’s hard for me, too. I want you to draw your strength from wherever it comes the strongest. Know that you are helping people who need you, people who will care for you if you let them, and people who will come to love you as I have._

_You have the power and the ability to rule the entire North, and I believe you will succeed wholeheartedly. I know you have doubts, so I have provided you a list of things to do as people begin coming to Winterfell._

_I will continue to write you. I will assist you in anything you need help with._

_Beyond everything, I love you. You are everything to me. I wish for your safety and happiness above everything else. However, I am selfish. And I can only hope that we will find our way back to each other. Stay strong. Be brave._

_I love you, Rickon Stark._

Rickon was sobbing in full. Tears were streaming down his face, and he wiped at them blindly. He wanted to do more for her. He _needed_ to do more for her. With deep breaths, Rickon calmed himself. He resolved to do everything he could to bring her back to him. Nothing would stop him from bringing her back to the North. He would do it for her.

Looking up, Rickon noticed that he had spent the entire day with her – reading her words. She was there. She was with him. So long as he held her words, she was with him. Nothing would take that away. There was an extensive list of things for him to tend to. He promised himself that he would look over everything, but he definitely needed to sleep through the night properly. After all, he needed rest if he was ever going to get her back. 

\--

It was difficult for Rickon to get back into the motions of life. Some things were easy—the things he already knew how to do. He hunted for meats, stocking up Winterfell and storing them in the ways Shireen had instructed. After that, he began work on the completed glass gardens. Following her instructions, he attempted to start the gardens. Shaggydog helped with the digging where he could, but Rickon did most of the work.

He spied Gendry on the periphery of his work several times, but every time Rickon looked up to him Gendry would wander off as if he hadn’t been watching him. Rickon was appreciative of Gendry’s distance, knowing that he would easily snap if Gendry tried to assist him. It was his work to do. Shireen had left him with this task, and he was going to do it for her.

For days, Rickon went on like this. He tended to the tasks Shireen had left him with care and meticulous precision. It got to the point where he was referencing the notes she left him several times a day. Occasionally, he forgot that he needed to do other things to make sure that he kept surviving. Shireen hadn’t put “eat every day” on her lists, nor had she included “sleep.” When Gendry caught him neglecting his own care, he forced him to take a day off and care for himself. After this, Rickon became irked that other people were always taking care of him, and he started working on it by himself.

Regardless of his preparations and adherence to Shireen’s notes, he was still shocked to find a group of about fifteen people waiting outside the gates of Winterfell one day. Every single day, he checked the gates, as per Shireen’s orders, but he honestly hadn’t expected anyone to show up. He stared at them in stunned silence for a solid minute before he realized that he should say something. Then, he realized that he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, Rickon began searching for his list.

“You look like a Tully,” a man said first.

Rickon froze, before he just said, “Aye.”

“His mother was a Tully,” another man said. The people before him began talking in undertones to each other. Before he could say anything, someone else spoke. This time, it was a younger woman.

“We live in Winter Town, my lord. During the winter, that is. We received word that Rickon Stark had returned, but we thought…”

“Do you really have a direwolf?” a young boy blurted out.

Rickon nodded slowly. On cue, Shaggydog rounded the corner of the keep, scanning the new people. Collectively, the group drew in a breath. Then, they slowly knelt down before him. Cringing, Rickon tried to wave off their motions. He didn’t want this. He knew it would happen. He expected this. But he still didn’t like it. Eventually, they stood.

“Anything you need, Lord Stark,” the first man said. He took a small step forward, eyeing the direwolf. “We will keep our quarters in Winter Town unless you call for us.”

He bent at the waist, bowing to Rickon. Then he turned around and instructed everyone to retreat to Winter Town.

“Wait!” Rickon called abruptly. The party halted and looked back at him. “I—the keep is empty. And it’s warmer. You’re welcome to find quarters inside, just—I have—not my…” Rickon lost his train of thought. He was having a difficult time asking this family to preserve his family’s history, especially when it gave them less comfort.

Fortunately, they responded positively to it. “We would be honored, my lord—Your Grace,” the man said. “We’ll gladly wait on you and assist however we can.”

Rickon was flummoxed, and he watched the entire group walk up to him, stopping just before him. He didn’t realize that he needed to do anything else. Luckily, Gendry appeared.

“New residents?” he asked. Without an answer, he held out a hand to the men. “Gendry Waters; I’m the smith here. Can I show you to the keep?”

The men agreed, leading the entire group behind Gendry into the keep. Rickon stayed frozen in place, watching them go past. A few of them shot him hesitant glances, but Rickon paid them no mind. He was biding his time until they were out of sight. Then, he hastily pulled out his notes from Shireen, looking for instructions on what to do next. He knew nothing about these people. Shireen definitely didn’t know them. What was he supposed to do now? He could feel the world getting smaller. He didn’t know what to do. He was completely in the dark now.

Rickon sat in the snow, and Shaggydog came up to him. Instinctively, he reached out a hand to rub Shaggydog between the ears. The direwolf went down in front of him, laying his head on Rickon’s lap. Putting the list away, Rickon pulled out her letter. He re-read it three times, paying special attention to her words of love.

With a loud groan, Rickon leaned forward into the direwolf. Shaggydog didn’t make any sign of recognition when Rickon screamed into his pelt. Then, Rickon fell into the snow.

“What now, Shaggy?” he asked aloud. “She didn’t tell me about this part.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Regular update coming this Friday.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People arrive at Winterfell.

Within the next week, word of a Stark residing in Winterfell spread like wildfire. In hindsight, Rickon realized that word must have be spreading before the people began arriving. However, the next week was when a massive amount of people began arriving every day. Gendry helped Rickon through the first few encounters, walking with him and talking to him about how to talk to people normally. The large groups of arriving people reminded Rickon that he had never spoken to people in any sort of group. His conversations had always been one-on-one, and Rickon found the urge to flee Winterfell at another high. Only his promise to Shireen kept him there, and Rickon did his best to keep it.

Gendry was particularly good at locating Rickon when he was getting particularly explosive, and he always gave Rickon time to run off and get away from the amounts of people. Rickon relished in these opportunities, using them productively. He would often hunt, turning back to Shaggydog for comfort and familiarity. While Gendry told him that it wasn’t helping with his temperament, Rickon ignored him.

Shaggydog also began following Rickon _everywhere_. Several times, Rickon was greeted with screams and shrieks before being hastily called “My Lord” or “Your Grace.” Having not wanted either of the titles, Rickon chose not to correct anyone regardless of what they called him. He went about his business as usual, continuing to follow all the directions that Shireen left him, although he took care to keep the lists secret from any passing people.

After a couple days of awkwardly walking about Winterfell, Rickon realized that he lost a lot of his responsibilities with all the new arrivals. No longer having a heavy workload, Rickon started wandering about aimlessly. He still didn’t speak much to the people, preferring to keep his silence and maintain distance from everyone. Gendry tried to talk him into being more open, but considering that even Gendry didn’t know much about him, Rickon assumed that he wasn’t doing too badly.

It didn’t take long for Rickon to realize that everyone was giving him strange looks. After he started paying attention, he noticed that the looks he was getting from women were very different from the looks he was getting from men. He pushed the thought aside, trying to think about Shireen instead. She had once told him that other ladies would be interested in him and willing to marry him, and he felt it now more than ever. Shireen had also told him that they would be far more beautiful than her. He still didn’t agree. Sure, they didn’t have her greyscale, but they also didn’t have her fire, her spark, her freedom. Rickon also couldn’t stand how they stuttered and mumbled around him, worshipfully calling him “Your Grace” in an attempt to win him over. Luckily, Shaggydog continued to assist by growling at anyone who tried to talk to him. This was extremely helpful in scaring off all the women who approached him, and Shaggydog’s protective streak went on. Rickon encouraged the behavior.

Once enough people were settled in Winterfell, Rickon saw to Shireen’s next step: assembling a council. Unfortunately, Rickon hadn’t paid particular attention to the lords when they came to Winterfell, so Rickon found himself sitting on a table in the forge, hastily scribbling down notes from Gendry.

“Bloody hells, Rickon, I didn’t pay _that_ much attention to the lords when they came,” he said, taking a break from hammering. He leaned against the table next to Rickon’s notes. “Are you sure that’s writing?”

“Shut up,” Rickon said sharply, pulling the paper away.

“Oh, of course, Your Grace,” Gendry japed.

Rickon shot him a deadly glare, making Gendry take a quick step back. Turning back to the list, Rickon wrote down a few more words. “You know I hate that,” Rickon said, putting the paper down again. “But you can recognize them, right?”

Gendry shrugged. “I could probably figure it out. That fat one keeps eyeing you strangely.”

“Stranger than the women?”

“Well, I don’t think he wants to marry you,” Gendry said slowly. He shot Rickon a sideways glance before saying, “Though, I think the position is filled…?”

“Not up for discussion anyway,” Rickon said quickly.

“Not up for—?”

“I’m not going to talk about it,” Rickon clarified. He gave Gendry an intense look, hoping he would understand his situation. “Ever. With anyone. Okay?”

Gendry nodded in complete understanding, letting the subject drop. He turned back to the forge, busying himself with rearranging some of his materials. Rickon went back to his scraps of paper, scribbling the same message six times. When he finished, he folded them up and wrote names on the outside. After writing Gendry’s name on the last one, he held out the stack.

“Could you try to get these to the right people?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Rickon, I can’t read.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to find someone else to do this later,” Rickon said through a yawn. “Just for now… I’ll... Here. This one’s yours.”

Rickon peeled off the top note, handing it to Gendry. Gendry sputtered out a “what?”

“That’s your name,” Rickon said quickly. “Or, um, that’s how Shireen wrote it. It’s a message asking the heads of houses to join my council—men or women, I don’t really care.”

“Wait, what?” Gendry asked again.

“I’m asking men to join my council,” Rickon repeated. “Shireen said I needed a council, so I’m trying to make one. I kept track of the names of the lords when they arrived, but I don’t remember who they are. I need to go look at sigils again before I meet them tomorrow.”

Gendry was giving Rickon a confused look, scrunching up his face and running a hand through his hair before holding out a hand for the messages. Rickon placed them in his hand one at a time, naming the houses of that they were to go to. Gendry asked him to repeat them a few times, and he complied. Then, Gendry went to the door. He turned back before exiting. “Are you sure you want me to get one of these?”

Rickon nodded, digging a knuckle into his eyebrow. “Definitely,” he mumbled. “I mean… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I’d… um…”

Gendry’s hand landed on his shoulder heavily. Rickon jumped slightly, but Gendry was giving him a sympathetic look. “I’ll do it.”

Rickon’s thanks died on his lips, realizing that it wouldn’t mean much to Gendry. He needed to do something else to make it up to him. “Gendry,” Rickon called, catching him before he left. “You’re a Baratheon, aren’t you?”

Gendry sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “So I’ve been told… now by the Hand of the One True King Stannis Baratheon…”

Rickon bit back a laugh at Gendry’s sarcasm. “Do you want the name? Baratheon?”

“Fuck, Rickon,” Gendry sighed out, slouching down more. “You know why I wanted the title… I mean, you’ve guessed.”

Rickon nodded. He remembered Gendry telling him about Arya.

There was a pause while Gendry bit at his lip. “I never wanted the name,” he confessed. “Just a chance…”

Rickon nodded again. “You have it now.”

“What?”

“A chance,” Rickon said. He studied the floor. “I cannot promise you anyone’s hand in marriage—it’s not mine to give, so you’ll have to get that on your own. But I can promise my blessing should it come to fruition. I’ll never force a marriage on anyone. I swear it to you.”

Rickon was thrown back by the mass of Gendry’s body. Gendry’s arms were held tight around him, and it took Rickon a minute too long to recognize the first expression of kindness he’d experienced since Shireen left. Slowly, Rickon returned the hug, letting the feeling hit him fully. After another moment, Gendry pulled away. He sputtered out his thanks before picking up the messages from the floor. Gendry left the forge quickly before returning to have Rickon repeat the names a few more times for him.

Once Gendry left, Rickon intended to go back to his room and look over sigils and houses and lands, as per Shireen’s instructions. However, on his way there, Rickon was interrupted several times by the inhabitants of Winterfell. They bombarded him with questions and requests, asking for favors and help. A part of Rickon wanted to help. It was what Shireen had told him to do, but Rickon couldn’t find it in himself to listen. He had other things to do. There were just too many things that he had to take care of. There was no way he could tend to everything. The people around him were still looking at him expectantly, and Rickon hadn’t responded to any of them. Carefully, he took a step back.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Rickon rounded quickly, drawing a dagger at the same time. There was a young girl behind him. A basket of bread that she was carrying fell to the floor. And Rickon’s dagger was at her neck.

He couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. They just appeared from everywhere. How could anyone keep track of all of this? Lowering the dagger, Rickon sought a solution to the problem. He was still surrounded by a loose circle of people, but now they seemed wary of him. Surely, they expected him to address his actions. But there were too many of them. Which did he talk to first? How could he talk to any of them?

The crippling fear of ruling started to take over him. Rickon wasn’t trained for this. He may have known how to answer the questions Shireen asked, and he learned what she taught him. This was immeasurably different, though. He couldn’t handle this. He wasn’t meant for this. Rickon was from Skagos. He was a wildling. He knew how to hunt, how to survive, how to live on the brink of death. This comfortable and cozy lifestyle wasn’t for him. He didn’t know how to live at ease. He didn’t know how to feel safe.

Rickon’s hands were twitching. A blade still rested in one of them. Gripping tight, Rickon saw no way out of the situation. Luckily, Shaggydog worked his way to the side, scattering most of the crowd that gathered. With a low growl, Shaggydog circled Rickon, barking at anyone who tried to stay in close proximity. Eventually, they all left, but Rickon could still feel their looks on him. He was too crowded here. He was going to go mad under this constant supervision. He couldn’t take it.

Pulling on Shaggydog’s fur, Rickon left to the godswood. He didn’t want to deal with all the people anymore. He wanted to be alone. He wanted his life back. Rickon did not feel prepared to do this anymore. He hardly felt prepared to do this when Shireen was supporting him. Now, it felt impossible.

With heavy steps, Rickon fell in front of the Heart Tree. He didn’t look up, though. He was staring at the snow between his feet, watching small whirls getting picked up by the wind. He was sitting too close to the hot pools to lie down, but Rickon managed it anyway. He took a moment to let the cold seep back into his skin. If he had gotten too riled up from just Shireen at Castle Black, this was infinitely worse. Rickon hadn’t grown used to interacting with people. He didn’t think he’d ever make it that far. Yet, he was giving it his best.

Rickon took a deep breath, rotating around to use the roots of the Heart Tree as a mediocre pillow. He glanced up into the face of the tree, trying to figure out how anyone gained wisdom from sitting in front of a tree. Slowly, Rickon pulled out a glove, letting his bare hand rest on the bark. As he expected, the familiarity of his brother’s presence washed over him.

“How did you do it, Bran?” Rickon mumbled. “You were younger back then, but you held Winterfell… I can’t do it.”

\--

The next day, Rickon took his time getting out of bed. He had missed breakfast by a wide margin, but he didn’t think anyone would care about it. Shaggydog was sniffing at the door, and Rickon looked over to the direwolf as he put on his boots. After a moment of consideration, Rickon also pulled on a cloak. He had found the cloak amongst his father’s belongings. While Rickon felt no real attachment to his father, he respected the idea of him. The cloak was also grey with a white lining, and Rickon hadn’t ever owned something bearing Stark colors.

Standing up, Rickon went to the door and pulled it open. He found Gendry leaning against the wall on the other side. Rickon raised his eyebrows at Gendry in question.

Gendry kicked off the wall and straightened up. “I was just giving you another few minutes before waking you,” he said. “Your meeting starts soon.”

Rickon nodded, passing Gendry and leading the way to the hall. The note from Shireen suggested that he have any council meet in his solar, but he wasn’t ready to let anyone into a room that felt so personal. Not long after, they entered the hall. It was empty save for five men seated at the first table. At once, they all stood up. When Rickon stepped down to the floor, they all took a knee, half of them saying “Lord Stark” and the other half saying “Your Grace.”

Rickon declined a response to this. Instead, he went to an empty seat at the table and sat down. Gendry took the seat next to him, and Shaggydog sat directly behind him. It took a moment for the gathered men to realize that they weren’t going to be asked to sit, and they hastily went back to their seats.

Not knowing their names, Rickon decided it’d be better to talk to no one in particular. “Thank you for joining me today,” he recited.

“I must admit I hoped to see you a lot sooner, Lord Stark,” a particularly fat man said. “I asked a sailor to return you to me, but it seems he had other loyalties.”

“As I suspect you had at the time, as well,” Rickon said sharply. He was all too aware that most of these men declared for Freys and Boltons after the sack. “I haven’t the time to question each of you for your loyalty, but be warned that should any of it come to light, I will respond accordingly.”

“As is your right, Your Grace,” another said.

Rickon instantly decided that he didn’t care about their names. He just needed their opinions to help get things done. “We have business to attend to set Winterfell’s affairs in order,” Rickon began, pulling out a piece of paper. He had copied Shireen’s notes so the men couldn’t see her writing. Slowly, he went over the points and listened to the input that the men provided. 

For the most part, he just let them talk. All of the men were very keen to talk over each other and prove their helpfulness to House Stark. Rickon didn’t have to try very hard to seem annoyed. He just took notes on the information they provided. A few times, he barked out a response, but for the most part he didn’t need to be there. That is until, they started questioning Gendry.

“I’m here because—” Gendry started feebly.

Rickon cut him off. “I asked him here,” he said sharply. “You will treat him with the same respect you treat me.”

The men shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. “Of course, Your Grace…” one of the men said. “Though, we should discuss matters of furthering your alliances.”

Rickon didn’t look up. He didn’t want to discuss this. He refused to discuss this.

Another man went on. “House Stark appears vulnerable at the moment,” he said. “You, being the last surviving Stark, have no heir, nor a wife. Frankly, your people will be worried.”

“My daughter Wylla would be honored to take the position,” the fat lord began. “She’s quite—”

“No,” Rickon said firmly. He didn’t even spare the man a glance.

“I’d gladly offer myself should one of your sisters return,” someone else said.

Rickon felt Gendry bristle beside him. “No,” he repeated. “My sisters are not prizes or a means to an end. I will not make promises regarding them without their knowledge.”

“A wise move,” another man said. “It’d be better to focus on matters we have immediate control over.”

“I’m sure we could send word to the Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island,” someone mused.

Rickon perked up slightly. Not out of interest, but because he remembered Shireen saying the name. Quickly, he looked back down.

“Lady Lyanna is a good choice,” another man agreed. “She’s of a noble house, her family has always been faithful to House Stark, she could give us greater access to ships, and she’s only a few years older than you.”

“What?” Rickon asked abruptly, looking up. He never considered his age as part of the equation. As far as he was concerned, there was no equation. It would be Shireen or nothing.

“She’s quite a pick, Your Grace,” the man went on. “I’m sure that she’d be happy to receive your raven.”

“I’m not going to send a raven,” Rickon rushed out. They had mistaken his exclamation for interest.

The men around the table gave him strange looks. However, the look he was getting from Gendry was different than the others. A couple men turned to each other before saying, “She’s two and twenty, Your Grace. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been betrothed yet. You’d do well to make her—”

“No,” Rickon said again. One of his hands was clenched in a tight fist under the table. He was having a hard time regaining control of himself. He wasn’t going to marry. Not to a northerner, at least. He stood abruptly and turned from the table. Shaggydog got to his feet as well, and Rickon reached to the direwolf for comfort. “If there isn’t anything else…”

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Rickon turned to give him a glare. The man almost backed down, but he took a deep breath and stood. “The Iron Islands have declared war on the North,” he said. “With all the Baratheon armies in the South, they’ve rallied together for another attack.”

Rickon narrowed his eyes slightly. He wasn’t expecting to go to war, but this would be unavoidable. “Then call the banners,” he said. “We’re at war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These ones are much harder to write without Shireen. I miss her. I'm so sad that she moved away from Rickon's plotline just as she faced horrors in the show.  
> Let it be known that my Shireen is healthy and very capable of murdering anyone who tries to do her harm. I'll write it into the story if I have to.  
> Those of you willing to do the math can actually figure out how old everyone is now, too!  
> Let me know what you think!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot that it's Friday? (Hint: it's me.)
> 
> Actually, this is mostly late because I was writing a Rickeen AU for a tumblr prompt...

Within the next week, Winterfell saw a mass influx of people. The lords furthest to the west sent Rickon word that they would hold their armies there and await his word, while the eastern people took time to stay at Winterfell before Rickon sent them off. So far, Rickon hadn’t sent anyone away from Winterfell. He was busy trying to figure out how to properly run a war. Sitting in the forge, Rickon had a few books open around him, reading over segments as fast as he could.

“How does anyone command an army?” Rickon asked, flipping through sheets. “There are thousands of men to see to… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Gather your council again,” Gendry suggested. “Some of them may have fought with your father or brother.”

Rickon groaned, throwing his head back. “I don’t trust them,” he said. “How do I know they won’t try something?”

Gendry shrugged, sticking a sheet of metal into a bucket of water. “You have to trust someone.”

“Who do you trust?” Rickon asked, stacking up his papers. He looked to Gendry full of curiosity. He didn’t really expect him to respond, but he was curious.

“You,” Gendry replied without hesitation, examining the sheet of metal.

“Why?” Rickon blurted out.

“Because you’ll do anything to keep Shireen safe, including going to war with the Ironmen so she doesn’t have to,” Gendry said, turning back to his work.

Grinding his teeth, Rickon stood up. “I suppose that’s why I’ll be fighting, isn’t it?” he asked. Rickon kicked at the floor. He let out a heavy sigh before he turned to the door. “We’ll meet in an hour. I’ll send word.”

Back in the keep, Rickon never had to do much to get anyone’s attention. With all the people constantly asking if he needed anything, he easily got people to send off messages to the lords of his council. After sending off messengers, he hid out in his rooms, trying to develop a battle strategy from the notes he’d accumulated. Shaggydog kept wandering the room, nosing at Rickon and trying to get his attention. Rickon pushed the direwolf away, trying to sort through everything he wrote down. Getting lost in his scribbles, he jumped when someone knocked on his door.

Gendry was standing outside. “You’re late.”

Rickon swore, going back inside for his notes before heading back out. Entering the hall, the assembled lords bowed to him still, calling him a mixture of something between “Lord Stark” and “Your Grace.” Sweeping past them, Rickon took a seat at the edge of the table. Rickon flipped through his notes, trying to figure out where to start.

The men around him were staring at him with an uneasy stillness, and it was making Rickon even more uncomfortable. After another minute of jostling his papers around, he threw the entire stack onto the table and papers went flying everywhere. His elbows hit the table hard as he hung his head in his hands. “I don’t know how to command an army,” he finally said. Then, he looked up. He could tell that he was frowning hard. “I require your assistance.”

The men all exchanged looks, challenging each other to be the first to be look at the scattered papers. Finally, someone said, “I’ll gladly offer my council, Your Grace. I was on your brother’s war council; we can figure this out.”

Rickon gritted out his thanks, and then the other men all agreed to help as well. Rickon tried to keep himself as still as possible while the men explained how to use the maps to track the progress of the war. He sat patiently through the full explanations, and then they started offering him bits of advice regarding the particular war they’d be fighting next. Taking in all the information, Rickon felt the strange urge to list out all the information. He blamed Shireen and thanked her in the same instant.

After their explanations, Rickon slumped back in his seat. He still needed to plan out how he would actually fight the war. He didn’t even know how many men would constitute his entire army or how they fought as a group. He supposed that sigils probably helped the most when in the thick of things.

“We’ll meet tomorrow to continue this,” he said abruptly, standing up.

“Your Grace, there’s still more to go over,” someone said. “And the day is still young.”

“Tomorrow,” Rickon repeated. “We will depart in two days’ time. And tomorrow, we will discuss our strategy.”

The door to the hall banged open, nearly causing Rickon to yell at whoever had come. He had too much to remember. He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep track of everything. Still, Rickon turned on the man. He bowed quickly. “Men approaching from the south, Your Grace,” he announced. “They bear the Baratheon sigil.”

Rickon quickly rushed out past the man. He paid no attention to the people flocking toward the gate and let Shaggydog push through them, clearing a path. Once they were past the gate, Rickon mounted Shaggydog without breaking stride, and they tore off toward the approaching party. Shaggydog’s senses overloaded his, and Rickon hoped to find Shireen’s familiar scent. In didn’t take long for the direwolf to smell out that she wasn’t in the party, and Rickon stopped dead in his tracks. He took a moment to compose himself, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting what he wanted.

The men continued their approach and met Rickon a mile outside of Winterfell. They were confused about his presence but greeted him kindly. One of the men held out a sealed piece of parchment. “Lord Stark,” the leader said. “We’ve come to deliver this to you.”

Rickon took the offered message. It was sealed with a Baratheon seal, but Rickon instantly recognized Shireen’s writing and ripped it open.

_My dearest Rickon,_

_I must begin with unfortunate news. My father has declined your offer for my hand. He believes that you will declare yourself king and that you mean to steal me. I didn’t tell him that that had been my idea._

_I have been forced to accept my betrothal, and my father’s army will grow immensely and head south immediately. I go with them to overtake King’s Landing, and my marriage will occur as soon as we are settled._

_I’ve only one bit of good news, and that is my gift to you. I wish it could be more… I wish I could deliver it to you, along with my hand, but I cannot. However, as part of my betrothal, I have demanded that the bones of Robb Stark and his direwolf Grey Wind be returned to Winterfell. I had several men confirm that these are indeed their bones and not some farce, and I’ve checked them myself on your behalf._

_I do hope you are well. And I still plan to return North as soon as I am allowed. I love you, Rickon Stark. You have stolen my heart, and I would ask that you steal me as well if our circumstances were any different._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_I’ll be back in the North soon, hoping to never return South._

_Yours always,_

_Shireen Baratheon_

Tears were stinging his eyes, but Rickon refused to let them fall. Not now. Not yet. Blinking hard, Rickon forced the tears from his eyes. He would not look weak in front of her men. Shaggydog circled Rickon calmly before licking his face. Rickon thanked the direwolf for his forethought.

“You have a… the…” Rickon didn’t know what to call it. Every word coming to his head felt wrong.

Fortunately, the men understood. “We have the bones of Robb Stark and his direwolf,” he confirmed. “We were under direct orders of the princess to deliver them directly to you.”

Rickon held out a hand before clenching his fist and letting it fall. Luckily, the men were already moving to place the chest at his feet. A tight knot formed in Rickon’s chest, and he felt Shaggydog holding himself back from rushing at the chest. Rickon dug a hand into his fur to keep him steady. He waved feebly toward the castle, trying to mumble out instructions to the Baratheon men. After a confused moment, they led their horses around Rickon and headed to the castle.

Several minutes later, Rickon finally released Shaggydog, and the direwolf rushed at the chest. He smelled every inch of the surface intently, seeking out all the small cracks and holes. During that time, Rickon fell to his knees. He leaned forward and rested his head on the chest. The tears were back in his eyes and Rickon no longer stopped them. Clutching at Shireen’s letter, Rickon tried his best to hold it out of harm’s way, dropping it on top of the chest before gripping his hands into the snow.

Grief was overflowing his system, and Rickon didn’t know how to release it. Before him was proof of his brother’s murder. Even several years later, Rickon felt the sting as if it had just occurred. He reached out for Shaggydog, and the direwolf immediately went to his side. Wrapping his arms around Shaggydog, Rickon let his consciousness move into the direwolf. The usual need to hunt had fled his system, and instead of the emotion that typically resided in him, Rickon felt Shaggydog’s sorrow. Both of their brothers: slain before their prime.

Shaggydog let out a howl filled with all the sadness and grief that Rickon felt. He howled twice more before settling down, lying down behind Rickon’s body. Rickon stayed in Shaggydog’s mind until he felt he could properly deal with the situation at hand. He woke to a muted light, and he instantly reached for Shireen’s letter. He didn’t trust himself to read it again. He still had to walk through Winterfell.

Carefully, he folded up the piece of parchment and stuffed into his shirt. He took a moment to steady himself, and then he reached out for the chest. However, Shaggydog’s bulk was resting on top of it. Rickon rubbed the direwolf between the ears trying to ease him off. Shaggydog didn’t budge until Rickon retied the ropes around the chest so he could carry it. With a low, contented growl, Shaggydog followed Rickon back to Winterfell where they ignored everyone they encountered on the way to the crypts.

Once there, the people in Winterfell crowded around, murmuring to each other. Rickon briefly considered talking to them, but he turned his back on the crowd. This was too personal. This wasn’t for them. He could tell them later. Leading Shaggydog into the crypts, Rickon lit a few torches along the way. He still remembered his way well enough to get by without much light, and Shaggydog was fine without it. He paused for a moment before his father’s grave, still empty despite how long ago it was. Next to it was another: his mother’s. Eddard’s and Catelyn’s graves would remain empty a while longer. They would be at peace if he could do anything about it.

Forcing himself forward, Rickon stopped beside Robb’s empty grave. He signaled for Shaggydog to drop the chest, and Shaggydog stepped forward and placed it down with more care than Rickon thought the direwolf was capable of. With his snout, Shaggydog pushed the chest into its proper position before going down in front of it. Rickon sat down next to Shaggydog, leaning into his fur. He gently ran his hands through Shaggydog’s fur a few times before settling against the direwolf and looking over his brother’s grave.

“Welcome home, Robb.”

\--

War councils quickly became one of Rickon’s least favorite things to do. The lords who were called to meet seemed to enjoy poking fun at his youth and inexperience, and they would often jest about rumors that went around Winterfell. None of them seemed to notice that Rickon didn’t enjoy their company, and they took their time making the meeting last as long as possible. Rickon tried to listen when they were being productive, but he spent most of the meeting devising his own strategies and plans. He didn’t know why they were being so useless, especially since they were scheduled to leave the next day.

Rickon was figuring out the best way to manage men on a waterfront when they finally called to him.

“How would you like us to divide our armies, Your Grace?” one of them asked. “We can carry out your instructions exactly as you tell us.”

“You will do as I tell you,” Rickon pointed out sharply. “And I will tell you when we approach our destination.”

“Your Grace, surely you aren’t planning on joining us?”

“I am,” Rickon replied, standing up and walking around the table. “Someone has to oversee the army.”

The men seemed baffled by this decision. “Who’s to hold Winterfell, Your Grace?”

“Gendry,” Rickon replied. “He has agreed to stay and manage my affairs until I return.”

“And if you don’t?” someone questioned. “Who is to be your heir?”

“Bran,” Rickon said. “Or do I need to remind you that I am not king? I only hold this seat in his place.”

All about him, the lords were exchanging looks. They definitely weren’t listening to him now, and he had no faith that they’d continue to listen to him on the battlefield. As far as he knew, they were planning on betraying House Stark another time. Rickon soured. He looked at the men he didn’t trust to follow commands. They wanted a king, and he wasn’t giving them that.

Someone tried to tell him otherwise. “Bran is…”

“Alive, well, and returning,” Rickon said sharply. He was losing his patience; this was not a battle he was going to run away from. He had done enough running in his life. “I am not the last Stark, and it would do you well to remember that.” 

“But, Your Grace… Winterfell…” someone said feebly.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” another supplemented.

Rickon bristled at the comment. There hadn’t been a Stark in Winterfell for the past few years. Surely, it could survive a while longer. What did they think was going to happen? He wasn’t going to just abandon it now. Though he had half a mind to name Shireen the heir the Winterfell should he die, Rickon ignored the thought and turned back to his council.

“You are dismissed, then,” he said. “I will lead my army into battle without your input.”

The council fell into chaos.

“You’re abandoning Winterfell!”

“You need an heir!”

“We’d do well with a Stark in battle…”

“You can’t just leave it here alone!”

“ENOUGH!” Rickon yelled back. “If you expect me to be king, you’d best start listening before I take your heads!”

“Now, that won’t be necessary.”

Everyone surrounding the table turned to the voice. The noise they had caused had been so immense that they hadn’t noticed the new arrival. Rickon took a step into the center of the hall to properly see who had come.

At the door of the hall, Rickon saw a group of about twenty people. They were a motley of people, and nothing seemed to bind them together. Before he could examine them individually, his eyes locked on the woman standing before them. She definitely appeared to be the leader of the group, and Rickon felt a strong sense of familiarity toward her. The word that immediately jumped to mind was “mother,” but he knew that wasn’t right. Still, she had long red hair, and stood proud and tall. While she was wearing a northern gown, she also had a layer of armor over it. Rickon locked eyes with the woman and suddenly knew who she was. Her eyes were familiar, but not because he’d seen them before. It was because Shireen had described them. Her eyes were a mellow blue, not nearly as bright as Shireen’s, and seemed to reflect ice inside. She had Tully eyes.

Around him, the lords knelt, bowing their heads to the woman. They murmured out some words, but Rickon wasn’t listening. He took another hesitant step forward as Shaggydog came to his side, carefully looking over the group. While most of them took a step back at seeing the direwolf, the woman stepped forward. She was smiling.

“Hello, baby brother,” she said gently. “It’s good to see you.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get this one early because I'm sick and definitely can't stay up until midnight.

Rickon was still too stunned to move. He managed to keep Shaggydog at his side while the lords exited the room at his sister’s request. Quickly, he wracked his memory for her name. Shireen had told him, but his memory seemed to be lost. She moved into the room with slow, steady steps, looking around. The members of her party stayed at the entrance, watching on carefully. Rickon hoped that Gendry hadn’t left with the lords. Then, she looked at him and Rickon froze again. She was only a few feet away from him, staring him directly in the eyes.

“You look like a Stark,” she said softly. “You have all the Tully traits, but much more like Father with your darker hair… a bit like Robb, but more wild.”

Rickon swallowed hard, and Shaggydog went forward to inspect his sister. She was only a bit shorter than Rickon, but Shaggydog towered over her. Shaggydog smelled at her skirts before licking her hand gently. She just smiled at him, reaching out to stroke his fur. Shaggydog only seemed to be tolerating the behavior, but Rickon was still lost in thought.

“Rickon?” she whispered, giving him a gentle look. Her eyes were becoming obscured by tears. 

It took Rickon a moment to realize that his probably matched. With a slow movement, she reached out to touch his cheek. Her fingers were softer than he thought they’d be. For a moment, Rickon thought of Shireen, but then he felt something inside of him break. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms over her shoulders. He knew that tears were falling freely from his eyes, but he didn’t care. He had a sister here. He had family.

“Sansa…” he choked out, squeezing her tight.

He could hear her laughter intermixed with crying. “You remember,” she said, returning the hug and pulling him close. “I thought… they said you were dead…”

Rickon pulled back slightly, shaking his head. He was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to respond to this. Slowly, they released each other, both laughing through their tears. After a few moments of nothing, Sansa wiped at her eyes and turned back to the party that accompanied her.

“It’s him,” she said, her voice cracking. “I—a moment, if you would… Though… Sandor…”

The party all nodded in agreement, stepping out of the hall. Only one of them remained, a large man who looked as if he stood taller than Gendry. The left side of his face was completely scarred and twisted, but he looked at his sister with such kindness that Rickon assumed she’d found her own Shireen. The man took a few steps forward, giving them space to themselves.

Sansa pulled at Rickon’s arm, leading him to the bedchambers and into his own. Together, they walked into the solar. “You’ve claimed Father’s then?” she asked, “and you’re standing in as lord?”

Rickon nodded, taking a seat. Sansa sat next to him, giving him a small smile. “Tell me what happened, Rickon,” Sansa asked. “And Bran? Where’s Bran?”

“He’s alive,” Rickon mumbled. His voice was hushed, but he didn’t think he could fix it. “Bran’s beyond the Wall, but he’s fine… and I’ve… well…”

Slowly, Rickon told her the story. Sansa reached out for his hand slowly, gripping it tight through the telling. When Rickon told her of Castle Black, he mentioned Shireen, but only as his tutor. With short words, Rickon got to the end of his story, and then she told hers.

Sansa’s story was completely foreign to Rickon. He was too young to remember her leaving Winterfell for King’s Landing with their father and sister, but Sansa told him everything. Her betrothal to Joffrey, their father’s beheading, her forced marriage to Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey’s murder, her escape with Petyr Baelish, how he killed their aunt and forced her to act as his daughter, Baelish’s many abuses of power, and his ultimate downfall by Sandor Clegane.

“Sandor saved me from the Eyrie,” she said, turning to look at the man sitting beside her. Rickon had forgotten that he was in the room. “He frightened me, back in King’s Landing, but he’s become a good man, Rickon. We left the Eyrie with some help and found the Brotherhood Without Banners. They said they would fight for my claim to the throne in the North, and they’ve accompanied me since.”

“Take it,” Rickon said abruptly.

“What?”

“The throne,” he said. “I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it.”

“Rickon… I do not wish to rule,” she said slowly. “I’ve had my share of politics and their stupid games, and I hope you won’t have me…”

Rickon sighed, reaching out for his sister. He briefly thought of his once-again fleeting chance to steal Shireen, but his family was more important. “Of course not,” he said. “I’ll hold the North for us.”

“Thank you,” Sansa mumbled. She pulled him into a hug. “The men who accompany me will swear their swords to you should you need them to, and they are loyal people who—”

“I trust your judgement, Sansa,” Rickon said again. “There’s no need to justify yourself.”

Sansa smiled at him. “I’m glad your tutor taught you so well,” she said. “We can speak… I was worried that you might come to rule having never had any lessons.”

Rickon returned the smile slowly, getting to his feet. He didn’t think he could talk about Shireen and have her only be his tutor. He went over to his desk and made sure that her letters were hidden. He cleared his throat. “We have received a gift from the Baratheons,” he said. “They’ve returned Robb’s bones to us.”

Sansa stiffened. “Were they truly his?”

Rickon nodded. “Grey Wind was with him,” he mumbled. “I made sure they went to the crypts.”

“Did the Baratheons ask for anything in return? Do they expect us to bend the knee?”

 _Just for me not to run South,_ he thought bitterly. Rickon simply shook his head slowly. Sansa didn’t seem to think the Baratheons wanted nothing in return.

“Have you married?” she asked. “Or am I… betrothed?”

“No,” Rickon said. “To both. I refuse to take a bride, and I’ll not give away my family for fealty.”

Sansa shot a glance at Sandor. “I could… if we require more alliances…”

“No,” Rickon insisted. “I’ll not have my family bartered off. I will marry when it is… _necessary_ , and you can marry whenever you’d like to whoever you’d like.”

“Rickon, you know we can’t,” Sansa said. “Starks have used marriage to strengthen bonds for generations.”

“And perhaps we will again,” Rickon said. “When our own bonds haven’t been severed. I’ll not have my family separated again. You can marry whoever you’d like, and I shall give you my blessing as lord or king. I’ll write it into a decree if needed.”

He met his sister’s eyes, hoping that she knew he sincerely meant his words. Sansa swallowed, but nodded at him. “Thank you, Rickon,” she said softly. “Though, you _will_ need an heir.”

Rickon resisted the urge to groan. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’ll worry about that after this war.”

“War?” Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Nodding, Rickon said, “The Iron Islands have declared war on us, and I intend to lead an army to stop them.”

“Very well, then,” Sansa said. “I will hold Winterfell in your stead. Do you require any counsel?”

\--

Sansa’s men were a much better help than the northern lords had been. Rickon assumed that the northern lords spent a majority of their free time at Winterfell getting drunk, and he found himself bitter about it. Sansa took the time to introduce Rickon to her men, and he legitimately tried to remember them as she said them. Still, the names flew by: Sandor, Thoros, Lem, Ned, Jaime, Brienne, Mya, Sarella, Anguy, Podrick… Rickon didn’t know how he’d remember them, but he would put forth the effort for now. He called Gendry back into the hall, and they had a proper war council. 

Finally having prepared for the war he’d be leaving for, Rickon felt like he had finally managed to do something. Sansa excused herself after the council to visit the crypts, and Rickon welcomed her men to find quarters in the keep. Most chose not to settle, as they had agreed to go to war with him on the morrow, and Rickon allowed them to spend their time however they liked. Gendry beckoned him out to the forge after the meeting, and Rickon followed.

“I think that went well,” Gendry said. “Your northern lords have a drinking problem.”

“They’re all drunks,” Rickon spat out. “I’ll have them dealt with if they survive.”

“You, as well,” Gendry said, entering the forge. “Though, this will help.” Gendry pulled out a beautifully-crafted set of armor. The steel of it was a muted grey and it was by far the nicest thing Rickon thought he would ever own.

“You’re not serious…” Rickon reached out for it slowly.

“It should fit you, if my measurements were right,” Gendry said, sizing up the armor to Rickon’s body. “Try it on, let me know if I need to fix anything before we leave.”

Rickon looked up quickly. “‘We’?”

Gendry set to work, putting the armor on Rickon. It seemed to fit him perfectly. “I figured that since your sister was here now, I could join your fight—make sure Shireen has someone to return to.”

Rickon gave him a sheepish smile. He distracted himself by messing with the joints in his armor. They were entirely made to perfection. Having never bothered with heavy armor, he was surprised to find that it was so light, yet it seemed durable. Rickon bounced about in it. He knew that he wouldn’t last very long in it, feeling that it made him a bit more restricted in his movements.

“Wow,” Rickon said, moving to remove it. “It’s perfect.”

“Not quite,” Gendry said. He frowned at the armor and purposefully moved Rickon in a few different directions. “But it will be by tomorrow, and we’ll be off.”

Rickon milled about Winterfell until dinner. He carefully watched all the men, knowing that he needed to trust most of these men with his life tomorrow. They weren’t setting a very good example, whoring about and drinking as if they’d die soon. Though, Rickon supposed that some of them would. He tried not to think about it. If the Ironborn fought from ships, they’d settle for cannons and not face them on water. The Mormonts had promised a fleet for battle, but Rickon called them off, knowing that their odds were smaller on water.

They just needed to give the Ironborn a small reprieve to land. Then, they could attack freely. Besides, the Ironborn would need to land if they wanted the North anyway, they wouldn’t be able to take anything on their ships the entire time… Rickon had thought through the scenarios so many times, he felt that he should be positive of a strategy by now. Luckily, Sansa’s men seemed to be confident in their abilities. Rickon looked over to them, jesting with each other at the table in front of him. They were enjoying their time, but not to the extent of the northerners.

Someone tapped Rickon on the shoulder and he jumped up about a foot, turning in his seat and reaching for his dagger.

“I’ve heard about you holding people at your blade, brother,” Sansa said. “I’d choose not to be one of them.”

“Sorry,” Rickon mumbled, releasing his dagger. Then, he frowned. “That only happened once…”

“I suppose everyone exaggerates,” Sansa said, giving him a smile. She settled in the seat next to Rickon, leaning over to him. “Are you enjoying the feast?”

Rickon frowned out at the crowd. Several of the drunken men were starting up songs and dancing about wildly. They had taken to the return of their northern princess extremely well, calling for a feast and rather unnecessary measures to celebrate her arrival. Rickon thought it was all very excessive. “No,” he said. “They need to be ready to leave by sun up.”

“They’re like to be worried about it,” Sansa said. She grabbed at Rickon’s hand, but he flinched away. “You know, your Skagosi tendencies won’t go away without interaction.”

“I’m fine,” Rickon said sharply. He noticed Sansa looking slightly hurt and tried to rectify it. “Are you cold? I want to show you something.”

Sansa shook her head, so Rickon stood up and led her outside. He was taking her to the godswood, hoping that she’d be able to feel Bran through the Heart Tree. He wanted to know that he wasn’t the only one. Sansa talked the entire time, holding a gentle conversation about how Winterfell was running and what she’d need to do in her short term as ruler. Rickon told her what he knew until they stood before the weirwood.

“I’ve seen the weirwood, Rickon,” Sansa said. She went to take a seat just before the tree, but Rickon stopped her.

“Not the tree,” Rickon said. “Well, not exactly. It’s…” Rickon didn’t know how to explain it, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Instead he simply went up to the tree and placed his palm flat against the bark. Immediately, he felt Bran’s presence. Slowly, Rickon moved into the tree, placing his forehead against the bark and thinking, _Sansa’s here, Bran._

To his surprise, he felt as if Bran was laughing at him. Smiling, he turned back to Sansa. She was giving him a confused look, so he beckoned her over. Sansa carefully placed a gloved hair against the tree, and Rickon shook his head at her. Rickon rubbed his fingers together before pressing them to the bark again. Staring at him with a fixed look, Sansa carefully removed her glove before pressing her hand to the tree. She had a smug look on her face, as if she was challenging Rickon, but the expression fell off her face immediately. Then, her jaw dropped and she looked up at the tree.

“But that’s…” she stammered out. Then, she moved closer to the tree and pressed her cheek against the bark. She hummed, closing her eyes and smiling. “It’s Bran. But he’s… in the tree?”

Rickon shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I just know that I can feel him near Heart Trees… But it’s definitely him.”

Sansa smiled, taking a seat on one of the large roots and leaning against the Heart Tree. “I never thought I’d be back… or that I’d see you again… And Bran, he was still asleep when I left… You better come back, Rickon.”

“I have to,” Rickon said, thinking of Shireen. He noticed Sansa staring, and quickly added on, “I can’t just leave you to rule.”

Sansa smiled and reached out for him. Slowly, Rickon took Sansa’s hand. Together, they sat by the Heart Tree until Sandor came to call them to bed. For the first time, Rickon watched his sister interact with Sandor. They were always close to each other, sharing glances and small touches. Rickon bit back a smile. Sandor was definitely her Shireen. He had done the exact same thing with her when the Baratheon men were in Winterfell. Sighing, Rickon went back to his chambers, prepared to sleep through the night for his journey tomorrow.

He stripped off his excess layer of clothing and didn’t bother with the fire. He didn’t need it if Shaggydog showed up. Rickon roamed the room, collecting things to take with him. Without hesitation, he packed everything that Shireen had written. Then, he put back the book she wrote. That _should_ be in the library, but Rickon wasn’t ready to give it up yet. Still, he’d keep her letters. After preparing his pack, Rickon went to his bed, ready to go to sleep. However, someone knocked on the door.

Frowning, Rickon went over to open it. Outside, there was a girl who appeared to be wearing only a loose-fitting shift, and Rickon immediately looked at the ceiling. He didn’t want to look at her, and he certainly didn’t want her near him. He suspected she had similar thoughts. He could hear her shifting about in front of him. 

“Um… I’m here… if you’d like someone to warm your bed tonight,” she mumbled out.

Rickon bit back a string of swears. There were a good number of things he’d like to yell at whoever had sent her up here. He knew that it wasn’t her idea, though, so he just said, “No” and shut the door. Almost immediately she knocked again. Rickon cracked his door open the smallest amount.

“If it please you, Your Grace, I wouldn’t mind…”

Rickon was about to snap at her when a deep, low growl came from the end of the corridor, echoing down the hall. The girl yelped, stepping quickly away from the sound. Shaggydog walked past her and into the room. The girl was shivering against the wall. Rickon pulled out one of his sheets and tossed it to the girl. “Best find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” he said as she wrapped herself in the sheet. “I suggest avoiding the hall.”

With that, Rickon shut the door on her and went back to bed. Shaggydog curled up next to him, and while he wanted someone else to be warming his bed altogether, he easily settled for the comfort of the direwolf. Finally, Rickon settled in for a night of sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's still sick?  
> You're getting this one before I forget to post it.

Marching an army halfway across the North was not terribly pleasant for Rickon. Sure, they made good time, and, yes, it was nice to finally meet common northmen, but Rickon was not enjoying his ride. He assumed it was mostly from being forced to ride on a horse because Shaggydog scared the other horses in the party. The direwolf was roaming the nearby woods, free to hunt and wander as needed. Rickon was riding at the front of his party, only a small group was in front of him. He wasn’t paying much attention to the men other than to stop for the night or food. His horse was becoming more manageable, though, and it was tolerating Shaggydog more and more. Rickon had half a mind to name it if they survived the battle.

Even after a few days’ ride, the company he rode with threw jests at him for denying the girl who appeared at his door during his last night at Winterfell.

“Little lordling don’t like the company of women?” someone called. Rickon recognized the jest, but rolled his eyes nonetheless. The man went on, “I should’ve come in her stead.”

Rickon turned in time to see him get cuffed by Gendry. “You’re not a sight better,” he grunted out. “And your _king_ can do whatever he pleases.” Rickon caught Gendry giving him a sheepish smile to apologize for his talk. Rickon gave him a small gesture to show his thanks. Then, Gendry rode up by Rickon’s side. “You think they’d have other things to talk about, but apparently men talk as much as women.”

“Men have always spoke more than women,” Rickon grunted out. “But no one thinks to insult them.”

“‘Spoken,’ actually,” someone corrected. Rickon turned to see the man riding next to him. He had pale blond hair and blue eyes that almost looked purple. It was a bit unnerving. Rickon tried to remember his name, but the man saved him. “Ned Dayne. I heard of your upbringing and honestly thought you’d have worse speech patterns. You must have had a good tutor on Skagos.”

“I didn’t learn at Skagos,” Rickon said, focusing back on his horse.

“Oh? Then, you’ve learned quickly,” Ned said. “And found good company. Surely, that’s Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill?”

“Just Gendry,” he corrected.

Ned looked confused. “I thought Lord Beric knighted you when—”

“I didn’t want the title,” Gendry said brusquely before riding ahead on his mount.

“Have I offended—?”

“Probably,” Rickon said quickly. He looked around the landscape; they’d have vision of the coast soon. “Best to be smarter about these things… Excuse me.”

Rickon quickly navigated his horse to the edge of the party and slid off. Immediately, five men surrounded him, trying to assist him with whatever he needed. Rickon brushed them off quickly, whistling for Shaggydog. At the sharp sound, the men fell back, knowing that the direwolf would be standing over them soon. Less than a minute later, Shaggydog was standing before him, but not before Sandor came next to him.

“Where’re you off to?” he asked.

“Need to see what’s up ahead,” Rickon replied, climbing onto Shaggydog’s back. “Should probably stop moving forward until I return.”

“Aye,” Sandor replied.

Rickon didn’t turn back to the company. He simply urged Shaggydog forward, weaving through the woods. Having the wind whipping about him was refreshing after the slow ride of the remainder of the journey. Rickon took a deep breath before digging his hands into Shaggydog’s pelt and slipping into the senses of the direwolf. Apart from the prey and other woodsy smells, Rickon could smell the spray of the ocean reaching them even from here. When Shaggydog stopped at the crest of a hill, Rickon remained in his senses to look out to the sea.

As he expected, a fleet of Ironborn was anchored out less than a mile from shore. There was a small group of men awaiting them on the shore, and Rickon hoped they had the wherewithal to retreat if the Ironborn sailed to shore. Returning to his own senses, Rickon looked at the ocean. This one looked just as dangerous as the one surrounding Skagos, but the waters around Skagos were never filled with ships. Squinting his eyes, Rickon made out a few torches traveling about the decks. He saw the splashes of a few rowboats hitting the water, and immediately raced back to his army.

Immediately, Rickon sought out Sandor and Gendry. “The Ironborn are coming ashore,” Rickon said. “Send a raven out immediately, tell the men out there to withdraw slowly. We need to draw them in. Another to the Mormont fleet, they can attack the ships once they’ve been abandoned.”

“When will they come ashore?” Gendry asked.

“Nightfall, if they’re smart,” Sandor said. “They can take all the close villages with the cover of night that way. Send word to the common folk as well, have them abandon their houses until we end this.”

Rickon nodded, and several men ran off to locate the ravens. “We should rest for now,” Rickon said. “As the sun goes down, we’ll approach. Then, we fight.”

“We approach as the sun goes down?” Ned Dayne said, coming forward. “What if snowfall hits us?”

“Northmen don’t cower from the snow,” Rickon said. “We’ve torches and cloaks, Shaggydog will lead us down to the shore.”

“The direwolf?” Ned asked.

“Yes, the direwolf,” Rickon said, rolling his eyes. He led Shaggydog over to a flat patch of snow in the cover of trees. The path that the men had been walking now appeared entirely made of dirt; Rickon settled down on the snow. Shaggydog was lying down, and Rickon moved over to use him as pillow.

Slowly, men approached, asking him questions about the strategies they should use. Rickon called in Sansa’s men who eyed Shaggydog cautiously before taking a seat. Rickon reiterated the strategy to them and sent them off to tell the other men who were fighting. After a while, a nervous quiet settled over the men as they awaited nightfall. Rickon nearly nodded off, trying to steady his mind. He needed to do this. He needed to keep his hold of the North. Without the North, he put the other kingdoms in danger, and no one was allowed there. That belonged to Shireen. Rickon would not let anyone have Shireen’s lands. That was utterly unacceptable. 

Just as the sky began darkening, Shaggydog perked up, smelling at a change in the air. Rickon tried to seek it out when a hand appeared in front of him. He looked up to Gendry.

“It’s time,” he said.

Rickon followed Gendry over to the chest that held their armor. Standing steady, Rickon allowed Gendry to fit the armor onto his body. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and watched the entire army slowly become more metallic. Knowing that Shaggydog wouldn’t enjoy the pinch of armor on his back, Rickon settled on his horse. The direwolf was eager to rush off, and Rickon let the pulsing energy rush through him. He needed the energy now more than ever.

“Hey.”

Rickon turned to Gendry. He watched as Gendry held out his warhammer. Gendry gave him a small smile and said, “For Shireen.”

Rickon returned the smile, feeling a rush of pride swell in his chest. It was for her. He would do this. In return, Rickon bumped the hilt of his dagger on Gendry’s hammer. “And Arya.”

With a nod, Gendry turned himself forward, awaiting Rickon’s signal. He waited another minute before closing off his helmet and letting out a low whistle for Shaggydog. A hush fell over the company as Shaggydog began his search forward. Rickon kept close on his heels, hoping that they could stomp the entire Ironborn threat right now. He let out a silent prayer, hoping that the Mormonts had received the raven in time.

Sneaking through the wood, Rickon began to lose his senses. He could feel his heart beating loudly in his ears, and he started running on instinct before Shaggydog snarled at him. Rickon snapped back to his senses before letting them mix with Shaggydog’s. He might return to his feral nature because of it, but at least he’d hold the North.

As night fell, Rickon signaled down the Stark banners. He thought the white and grey would be too visible in the dark, and they needed to squash this threat immediately. As they crept down, the other northmen joined his party. Rickon passed all of them, moving to the front of the large company for the battle ahead. Gendry was close on his heels.

Rickon knew that going in and making a target of himself with a direwolf at his side would force the Ironborn to attack. As long as they thought they could kill a Stark, he had the advantage. Shaggydog wouldn’t let anyone through, and both Gendry and Sandor refused to leave his side. Heart racing, Rickon made his way down to the shore to fully engage the Ironborn.

\--

The entire battle was a blur to Rickon. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how he was still awake. He didn’t remember sleeping and he was almost certain that several days had passed.

The Ironborn had severely underestimated the Stark forces, sending waves of men forth from the fleet to engage them. Rickon had fought wildly, having never trained on a horse. Gendry and Sandor saved him multiple times, and Shaggydog took down twenty men for every one he slew. He remembered being pulled from the fight a couple times, having rations and water pressed into his hands. Still, Rickon wasn’t sure how he was alive.

The fleet on the ocean had lit up and burned down on the fourth night, and the Northern army fought with renewed vigor. Rickon had mounted Shaggydog that night, riding into battle hard and fast, hoping that he could end it. Soon, all the Ironborn were dead, bleeding out, or taken captive. Rickon was breathing hard, watching a final rowboat come in to shore. He held out his sword protectively, knowing that this would be that final blow.

When the boat was close enough, Rickon spotted the banners and tried to think through it. Bears weren’t on the Iron Islands, as far as he knew. Then, he remembered the Mormonts. Slowly, Rickon walked to the edge of the surf, but he didn’t drop his blade. It could be a ruse. On the sailboat were three people: one man was bound and gagged, another was rowing, and a woman was standing proud, brandishing her own sword. Seeing Rickon, she sheathed the sword and lifted the captive. Walking him to the sand, she kicked him down before kneeling before him.

“King Stark,” she greeted. Her face was flushed, and she was still breathing heavily. “May I present you their captain. The Ironborn have no more ships. They’ve all been burned or taken back to Bear Island to await your word. The North is yours.”

“You are?” Rickon asked, narrowing his gaze at the woman.

“Lyanna Mormont,” she replied, standing up straight.

Rickon remembered the name, but he chose not to mention it. “And what would you do with the prisoner?”

“Kill him,” she said shortly.

“Then, do it,” he said, turning on the foam of a wave. “I’m done here.”

Rickon went back to Shaggydog, hoping to go take count of their losses. Gendry sent men off to take counts, and Sandor had men scout out the area for further threats. Then, he placed a hand on Rickon’s shoulder.

“You did well, little wolf,” Sandor said. He didn’t look down to Rickon, instead he steered him over to a large tent. “You need your rest now.”

“Rest?” Rickon asked, finally feeling the exhaustion of the past few days hit him. He ignored it. “I’m fine.”

“Boy, you’ve been fighting for nearly two weeks straight,” Sandor said. “You need rest.”

Two weeks? Rickon could scarcely recall four days of it. Surely he hadn’t been that far gone. Rickon nearly fell to the floor, losing his balance entirely. Sandor caught him. One of his hands hit Rickon’s side and Rickon gasped sharply. Sandor pulled away quickly, laying him onto the floor in front of the tent. Quickly, Sandor removed his armor, shouting something at Rickon. Rickon couldn’t hear a word of it; he felt dizzy.

Someone cold hit Rickon’s face, and he gasped for air, trying to sit up. Four people surrounded him, one was holding him down and Rickon stopped his struggle. If they were going to kill him, he was done for anyway. Blinking, Rickon recognized Shireen’s eyes. He tried to reach out until Gendry’s face came into focus. Rickon growled, turning away. He heard Gendry chuckle.

“He’s awake.”

“Well, keep him breathing. Sansa will kill me if he dies.”

Rickon tried to look around the room. He needed to know what was going on. He didn’t even know where they were. Rickon felt lost. He reached out for Shaggydog and found the wolf far away, whining in the woods somewhere. Halfheartedly, he tried to whistle for him. Shaggydog seemed to sense the intent and began racing over.

“Oh, no!” someone called. There was a girl in his company. “You keep that direwolf away! I already got him out once.”

Rickon heard a loud bark before he felt Shaggydog’s fur at his side.

“Out!” the girl called again. “This is difficult enough as it is without that distraction.”

Rickon wanted to snap at her. He needed Shaggydog here. But he felt himself growing tired again.

“No, you don’t,” Gendry said gently, nudging his shoulder. “You can keep your wolf if you stay awake.”

“He will not!” the woman called.

Shaggydog snapped at her, growling in the process. That effectively shut her up. Gendry pressed a cup of water to Rickon’s lips and he drank thirstily. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. He was probably hungry, too. When the cup was empty, Gendry sent someone off for more. Rickon tried to reach out for Shaggydog, and found his snout. The direwolf licked at his fingers, and Rickon tapped his snout as carefully as he could, muttering out a, “good boy.”

“Like hells he is,” the girl snapped at him. “Making my task more difficult…”

Rickon attempted to roll his eyes and knew that he failed miserably. He looked to Gendry for help.

“You took a deep slash,” Gendry explained. “It was the only chink in the armor, and you had on leather underneath. I should have fixed that… We thought it was someone else’s blood. You stopped letting us clean you up after the fifth day.”

Nodding, Rickon tried to roll over, letting out a sharp cry.

“Your fault,” the girl said shortly. “The direwolf keeping me away from stitching you up…”

Rickon wanted to stab her. Shaggydog could care for him just fine. He didn’t need this. He needed to sleep, drift off somewhere and settle into Shaggydog’s mind. He felt a sharp prick in his side and lashed out a hand, striking something.

“You’ll keep your hands down if you want my help!” the girl yelled. He felt her prodding about his side before poking into his side again. Rickon bit his tongue, and listened to her mutter to herself.

Gendry gave him another cup of water. “We’ve already sent word to Winterfell,” he said. “A few companies of our force have been sent back, hoping to avoid the harsher snows. We’ll return when you can ride, unless you’d prefer a litter.”

“I _can_ ride,” Rickon protested. He glanced to the woman stitching up his side and found that he recognized her, but he couldn’t think from where. She was shaking her head at him. Rickon ignored her. He didn’t want to deal with any of this now.

“We’ll be off tomorrow,” a gruff voice came from the doorway. Rickon looked up to see Sandor who eyed Shaggydog briefly before taking a seat near Gendry.

“He can’t ride!” the woman insisted.

“Then, he’ll be carried,” Sandor said. “There’s a storm coming in, and we can’t be delayed. You are, of course, welcome at Winterfell, Lady Mormont.”

Rickon watched her roll her eyes before placing a large bandage over the wound she just stitched up. Slowly, she walked from the tent, closing the flap behind her. Rickon looked to Gendry quickly. “I’m not marrying her.”

Sandor looked confused, but Gendry laughed. “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I think this direwolf would kill her first.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Sandor asked. “We just won a great battle. It’s time for celebration.”

“Northern lords think I need an heir,” Rickon mumbled. “They suggested _her_ to be my wife.”

“Fuck the northern lords,” Sandor said. He took a deep drink from his cup before settling back on the floor of the tent. “We’ve kept you alive. That should be enough.”

“Get some rest, Rickon,” Gendry said. “We’ll leave at daybreak for Winterfell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a good weekend, everyone!


	29. Chapter 29

The ride back to Winterfell was long for Rickon. He sent Gendry and Sandor ahead with half of the men to ease their return, and Gendry agreed only after putting a woman named Brienne in charge of looking after him. Rickon was thankful that this woman was far more hardened, not trying to stop him for rest every hour. A few of Sansa’s men kept company with him, but Brienne seemed partial to the company of a man called Jaime, even though they bickered more than anything.

“When you find a wife,” Jaime began one day, speaking in mock undertone with sly glances at Brienne, “make sure she actually wants to marry you first.”

“We’re not married!” Brienne shouted at him.

“We will be, wench!” Jaime called back. Then, he turned to Rickon again. “She’s always like that.”

Rickon felt the urge to laugh, but suppressed it to try keeping his stitches in. The last thing he wanted was to return to Winterfell and have to be under the care of Lyanna Mormont again. For the most part, Rickon just wanted to sleep and eat, but the men taking care of him refused to let him gorge himself on their rations.

Thinking back to the battle, Rickon tried to remember everything that happened. His personal memory of the events were extremely obscured because the thoughts of Shaggydog that had become intermixed with his, so Rickon relied on Gendry’s retelling of the events as much as he could. According to Gendry, Jaime had taken command of the army after Rickon refused to communicate with everyone. Rickon eyed the man carefully. He had yellow hair, and a demeanor that suggested that he owned everything. Still, he easily became more submissive whenever Brienne addressed him. Rickon thought it was good for him.

They were easily approaching Winterfell now, and Rickon could see the keep in the distance. Focusing on the remainder of the ride, Rickon resolved to maintain his silence until they returned. The company with him had other ideas.

“So tell me, King Stark,” Jaime said loudly. “Have you truly declared your title over the North?”

Rolling his eyes, Rickon ignored the question. Jaime looked as if he’d pursue the topic, but he was interrupted by the return of Gendry. “Rickon!” he called, nearly out of breath.

“That’s King Stark to you!” Jaime called out. Brienne punched him in the arm.

“Rickon,” Gendry said again. He shuffled on his horse and produced a small folded bit of parchment.

“Word of war?” Brienne asked, looking apprehensive.

Taking the message, Rickon turned the papers over. On the back of the parchment was the Baratheon seal. With a deep sigh, Rickon pocketed the note, thanking Gendry. Before anyone could ask about it, Rickon slid off his horse with a grunt, clutching at his side. He heard the rush of men surrounding him immediately, so he whistled loudly, knowing that the Shaggydog would scare them off. Sure enough, the direwolf ran to his side and a majority of the men backed away quickly. Gripping Shaggydog’s fur, Rickon slowly climbed onto his back. The direwolf moved slowly, getting to his feet and taking Rickon away from the group.

Rickon led Shaggydog straight to the godswood, ignoring anyone who tried to greet him. Shaggydog took Rickon right up to the Heart Tree, going down in the snow. Rickon took his time to dismount and settled against the direwolf’s side. Finally alone, Rickon opened up his message.

_Rickon,_

_YOU BETTER BE ALIVE._

_We’ve just received word that the North is at war with the Iron Islands, and I hope that you’re prepared for this. I’ve had very little news of the North, but I’ve been praying in every godswood we’ve crossed for your safety._

_Please, please, please return safely. I know it is terrible for me to continue spending all my time thinking of you and writing to you when I am betrothed, but the Frey in question is a horrid man. He is nearly my father’s age, and he has yet to acknowledge that I am alive, much less his betrothed._

_We are currently at Riverrun with your uncles, and they are extremely generous. They’ve supported to your claim to the throne in the North, and my father has taken their word. As far as the Baratheon forces are concerned, you are King in the North now. I know you never wanted the title, but it suits you. You’ll carry it well._

_Do not worry about me, Rickon. The South is manageable, and we’ve yet to face any real opposition. We’ll make it to King’s Landing in a moon’s time, after which marriages and coronations will take place._

_You don’t need to worry for me, Rickon. I can survive on my own, and I am doing just fine. The ride isn’t nearly as wretched as the men make it out to be, even with the small illness I’ve had. I’ll still return North as soon as I’m given leave to travel. Perhaps you should request an envoy to arrange terms for a peace treaty, and I’ll have more reason to visit myself. After all, we have a history._

_Don’t risk a response to me either. There’s no telling who will read my letters before they get to me. I only chance it to offer you help whenever you may need it. I wish I could do more._

_Stay safe. Stay alive. I love you._

_Shireen_

With a sigh, Rickon re-read her letter several times. He was so acquainted with her writing now that he could tell which words she wrote with care, or in a rush, or in frustration. Tracing his fingers over the letters, Rickon gave himself this small moment to just be with her again. Reading her words could never replace her, and he truly wished that he could steal her. In his current state, he couldn’t do much of anything. He was still hoping that her wedding would be delayed until after her trip north so he could take her hand.

As Rickon folded up the letter, he heard crunching snow behind him. He quickly hid it from sight and looked to see who arrived. Sansa was walking toward him with long, easy steps.

“I heard you were injured,” she said, walking past him to press a hand to the Heart Tree. “Or did you really need to tell Bran that you’re safe before you told me?”

“Sorry,” Rickon mumbled, getting to his feet slowly. “It’s just… he’s…”

Sansa gave him a weak smile. She placed her arms around his shoulders and gave him a light hug. “I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “But let’s get you healed first.”

Nodding slowly, Rickon allowed Sansa to lead him inside. She took him straight to his room and helped him to bed. Leaning back, Rickon allowed Sansa to check on his stitches. Once she was satisfied that he was healing properly, she left to fetch him food. Rickon admired her independence to fetch things herself instead of calling on someone to do it for her. Resting in bed, Rickon carefully pulled out Shireen’s letter and hid it under his pillows. He’d have to change soon, and he didn’t want Sansa to know. Not yet.

Sansa returned with a tray of food a few minutes later and left him to eat. Rickon assumed that she was seeing to the returning army, making sure that everyone was properly fed and stitched up. After finishing his meal, Rickon put on a set of clean clothes before settling in for sleep. Before he could nod off, a knock sounded at the door. Rickon groaned, glaring at the door before calling out, “Enter.”

Lyanna Mormont strode in, and Rickon didn’t spare her another glance. He was getting awfully sick of her presence and having her found in his rooms would only egg on the northern lords who wanted him to marry her.

“Get out,” Rickon said sharply. He placed his arm over his eyes to try and block her out.

“Your Grace, I’ve come to check on your wounds,” she said slowly.

“I’ll manage without it,” Rickon said. He sighed, trying to brush her off quickly.

“I didn’t mean to cause you further problems,” she mumbled out. “I simply hoped that—”

Rickon let out a loud groan. “I don’t care. Just leave.”

There was a small moment when Rickon wasn’t sure if she would leave. He didn’t know what prompted her to come into his room, and he didn’t care anymore. He wanted her gone. He didn’t want any involvement with her. Rickon just wanted to rest before he was forced to stake a claim as King in the North. Lyanna murmured out a short apology before rushing from the room. 

Rickon slumped back in the bed. Another knock came from the door and Rickon was close to shouting at them before Sansa appeared. He fell back into his bed with a small groan.

“Was Lyanna Mormont just in your room?” Sansa asked. She placed a package on the edge of his bed and took a seat. “She’d be a good match for you.”

“She’s a terrible match,” Rickon said. He saw Sansa’s mouth drop open to protest, but he kept going. “I know, I know… I need an heir. I need a wife. I’ll manage it eventually, but not now. The Baratheon forces have recognized me as King in the North, and I’ll not be dealing with a marriage when I need to learn how to rule.”

Sansa sighed, giving him a weak smile. She reached out for his hand, but Rickon pulled away. She settled for resting her hand on his leg. “In time, Rickon,” Sansa mumbled. “Just know that it does need to happen, regardless of who you take as a wife.”

Rickon nodded, fixing his stare on the ceiling. He felt Sansa’s hand leave his leg, but she didn’t move. After a minute, he heard her nudging the package toward him. Rickon glanced down to look at her.

“I made this for you,” she said. “For you to do with as you like.”

Curiosity filled Rickon as he sat up slowly. Taking the package in his hands, he turned it about before carefully opening it. Inside was a beautifully-embroidered cloak. The grey fur lining of it was incredibly soft, and Rickon ran his hands over it before turning it over. The back of it was pure white with a direwolf sewn into the center of it. Holding it gently, Rickon realized that it was a marriage cloak.

He suddenly wanted to find Shireen more than ever. He could claim her now, wrap a marriage cloak over her shoulders and take her as his. Rickon fumbled with the direwolf clasp that would sit at her throat. He imagined her in that grey northern gown, and he felt a smile growing on his face.

From across his bed, Sansa breathed out a small, “Oh.”

Rickon glanced up to her before running his hands over the cloak once more. It was hers. It would go to Shireen if it was the last thing he accomplished. He didn’t want a crown. He only wanted to put the cloak around her. Gripping the cloak tightly, Rickon let out a heavy sigh. He looked up at the ceiling before giving Sansa a small smile. “Thank you.”

Sansa returned the smile, but she looked sad more than anything. She stood up slowly, walking around the bed to stand at his side. Rickon looked up to her as Sansa gave him a light hug and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. She combed her fingers through his hair and made for the door. Just before exiting, Sansa turned back to the room.

“I hope you’ll tell me about her,” she mumbled. “Not now… but someday.”

Sansa shut the door behind her on the way out, leaving Rickon alone in his room. He continued to run his hands over the cloak, trying to imagine how Shireen would respond if he presented it to her. Leaving it covering half his bed, Rickon finally managed to fall asleep.

\--

After another three days of bedrest and being mostly confined to his room, Rickon was finally able to roam the keep again. Sansa had very effectively managed Winterfell in his stead, but he needed to learn how to rule on his own, particularly if the Baratheons recognized him as King. Thinking that the North needed much more help to get fully settled, Rickon began seriously considering writing to the South for help with supplies.

“That may not be the best idea, Your Grace,” Lord Umber said. Rickon was beginning to finally learn everyone’s names, especially since the arrival of Sansa’s men. “The South may request an alliance should you call on favors.”

“The Baratheons have a princess,” Lord Tallhart supplied. “You could ask for her hand.”

Rickon shot a look at Gendry, who was hiding a grin. Then, Rickon looked back to the lords. “She’s betrothed,” he said before tacking on, “to a _Frey…_ ”

The northern lords began grumbling again, arguing about Southern alliances. Rickon looked to Sansa for a reprieve. Luckily, Ned Dayne chose to speak.

“The Baratheons can’t give up their princess,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “She’s Stannis’s only heir. Rickon would be forced South to sit the Iron Throne.”

“We could send _you_ to her,” Jaime suggested. “Surely, the Lord of Starfall is a worthy match.”

Ned Dayne laughed. “I think the Baratheons know that Starfall’s in Dorne. That doesn’t help for a northern match.”

“Do we really _need_ a Southern alliance?” Sandor asked loudly. “I’ve had enough of them for a lifetime.”

“Quiet, Hound,” Jaime called. Brienne pushed him off his chair.

“We can still be on good terms with the South,” Rickon said. The council before him hushed once he stared talking. He was starting to get used to it, but it still felt awkward. He still had to put Shireen’s plan in motion, though. He still felt the need to follow her advice. “I’ll write to the Baratheons and request they send forth an envoy to talk terms. There’s no reason to be separated from them entirely.”

Once Rickon stopped talking, the silence continued on for another minute before they started discussing other matters. They hadn’t bought up marriages again, and Rickon suspected that Sansa had told them to hold off. Still, Rickon didn’t worry about it. He’d rule alone if need be. Starks didn’t need further assistance and marriages to help them rule.

He remained silent for the rest of the meeting. He allowed Sansa’s word to carry for the both of them, and she really did seem fit to be Queen. Rickon knew better than to force titles on anyone, though. He refused to do that to his sister. She had lived a horrendous life down in the southern kingdoms. Rickon would not contribute to her future unless she asked him to. With everyone in good spirits after the meeting, everyone departed save for Gendry.

He waited until Rickon acknowledged him. “You aren’t going to try for her hand?”

Rickon sighed. “She’s betrothed and the only heir. She loses all her claim coming North and would destroy the Baratheon line doing so.”

“I could take the name,” Gendry offered. “I’m far less qualified than even you, but if Stannis legitimizes me I can be his heir. Then, Shireen could come…”

“What about Arya?” Rickon asked.

“It’s been years, Rickon,” Gendry said. “I’ve searched half the country for her, and I can’t stay swallowed in my past forever.”

Rickon bit his tongue, pacing the room. Finally, he rounded on Gendry. “If I’m not allowed to give up on Shireen by your count, then you’re not allowed to give up on Arya.”

“I’m not giving up—”

“Take the name, refuse it—it doesn’t matter. But she’s alive, and she’s closer than before…”

“What?”

Rickon shook his head quickly. “I don’t know how…” he started feebly. “She’s distant, but she’s not anymore. I can’t…”

“I’ll stay, Rickon,” Gendry said. “I don’t need a name. Just… don’t give up either.”

Gendry gave him a small pat on the shoulder before returning to the forge. Rickon watched him go before going to tend to his responsibilities. The bulk of the men from his army had returned to their lands, racing off to beat the fall of winter, even Lyanna Mormont had taken off. Rickon didn’t want her advances, but he didn’t mind having her on his council. He’d have to write a letter to Bear Island, as well.

Wandering the grounds of Winterfell, Rickon hoped that this was what regular life was supposed to be like. No one stopped to ask him questions or favors anymore. However, they did bow or kneel before him as he passed. Shaggydog also had free reign of the keep, but the direwolf was typically greeted with screams before returning loud growls at them. Sansa had issued roles to several men in the keep, only keeping important council members housed there. Storms were expected to hit Winterfell soon, and Rickon could only imagine how the cooped-up life would affect him again.

Easing back into yet another type of new lifestyle, Rickon found that navigating these new waters was far easier than the other changes he had made previously. While the other changes had been rather drastic for his expectations, this was smoother and made all the more easier with the support of his sister.

Resting in bed that night, Rickon wandered the keep as Shaggydog. The direwolf was following a sharp scent until stopping at the gate. No one would let him out, and Rickon could finally sense what he was following. It wasn’t prey like he was accustomed to. They were wolves. Rickon felt the tension growing through Shaggydog as he sifted through each scent.

An entire pack of wolves was waiting outside the walls of Winterfell, and Shaggydog caught scent of their leader. Rickon woke quickly, sitting up in bed as Shaggydog let out a loud howl. Moments later, the howl was returned. 

A direwolf was leading the pack.


	30. Chapter 30

A heavy storm hit the North for the next few days, and Winterfell felt crowded. Rickon kept seeking out his own sense of peace, hiding out in corridors with Shaggydog. Several times, Shaggydog tried to lead Rickon back outside, but there was almost always someone standing guard to keep him inside. Meetings halted as the storm grew worse, and Rickon was surprised to find Gendry wandering the keep as well.

“I can’t keep the fires hot enough,” Gendry said by way of explanation. “There’s also been a lot of howling. I think there’s a new pack in the wolfswood.”

Rickon watched Gendry start to walk off before calling him back. “Gendry,” he called. “I—you’re welcome to rooms in the keep.”

“Thanks, Rickon.”

Swearing at himself, Rickon quickly turned away. Even if he had been positive that Shaggydog had caught the scent of a direwolf, he didn’t want to get Gendry’s hopes up for no reason. He was losing his peace of mind. He needed to get out.

Sneaking out was only a bit harder than Rickon thought it would be. Shaggydog went to scare off one of the guards standing by an exit, and Rickon ran outside once no one was in sight. Bracing his body against the strong winds, Rickon gripped his cloak around his shoulders and pressed on to the godswood.

Walking through the storm would have been impossible without Shaggydog blocking a majority of the winds. Keeping a hand on the direwolf, Rickon slowly made his way. The snow whipping around him was more annoying than anything. Rickon could deal with the cold, but it was affecting his vision and making his movements slower than he’d like. Thankfully, once they hit the godswood, the winds settled but snow continued to fall. Even with the snowfall, Rickon felt the urge to bathe in the hot springs. He hadn’t been in the waters since his time with Shireen, so Rickon stripped down, feeling the cold hit him for once. Quickly, he waded into the waters.

The warmth surprised him, and Rickon settled into the heat. For the first time in his life, he felt torn up and completely haggard. There were a ton of scars running across his torso from hard training at Skagos, and he was nearly always unkempt. Dunking his head underwater, Rickon combed out his hair. It was definitely longer than it had been since Shireen had cut it, but he didn’t want anyone else to touch it. Shaking off the water, Rickon took a moment to just be calm.

Skagos had been his reprieve once. After the sack of Winterfell, Rickon had spent his times running. But even at Skagos, he hadn’t settled. Not entirely, anyway. He was still training, still learning how to fight for his life. He had to hunt constantly and find ways to busy himself. At Castle Black, he was always finding things to do: training, writing, reading, hunting… He had never settled down.

It was only when he was alone with Shireen that he felt truly calm. She kept him busy, and she kept him learning, but she understood him enough to give him his freedoms. She freed him.

With a heavy sigh, Rickon began his climb out of the pool. He had to save her. If she wrote to tell him how horrendous she was feeling, then he was going to get her out of there. She deserved that much from him. Besides, with the threat of war past, Rickon no longer had pressing matters to tend to. He could go to her now and no one should care. He may not be crowned, yet, but he wanted his queen.

After pulling on his clothing, Rickon began walking back to the castle just as the sun was coming up. He resolved to skirt around the edges of the keep and head South immediately. However, Winterfell was in a frenzy, so he kept his head down to make his escape. With a surprising amount of luck, Rickon managed to make it outside the main gate of Winterfell without drawing too much attention. 

Once outside, Rickon began walking south. He didn’t make it very far before a pack of wolves slowly surrounded him. Shaggydog immediately went on the defensive, growling loudly at the crowd. Rickon searched around, trying to find the direwolf that led them. Shouts began coming from the walls of Winterfell, and Rickon tried to signal them to stop the noise. He heard the gates opening and closing, and turned sharply to tell them off. His voice died in his throat.

Standing between him and the gates of Winterfell was a grey direwolf. She stood just a little smaller than Shaggydog, but it was obvious that she was leading the pack. Shaggydog didn’t stop his growls, moving slowly toward the direwolf. Rickon glanced behind them, watching the other wolves close ranks just enough to prevent escape. He tried to look beyond the direwolf to see who had left Winterfell because he could hear them walking through the snow.

The other direwolf was still staring down Shaggydog, and Rickon knew they were trying to fight for dominance. He watched her carefully, wanting to keep Shaggydog safe.

Rickon didn’t know how long they stood, staring each other down. But after a long while, he heard Gendry whisper out, “Nymeria?”

Both direwolves cocked their heads to the side. Then, Nymeria turned to stare at Gendry. Shaggydog took a few steps forward before a ripple of growls ran through the pack of wolves. Shaggydog let out a fierce snarl, effectively silencing the pack. Nymeria’s attention was entirely focused on Gendry now, and she was slowly moving toward him. Rickon watched Gendry stiffen as the direwolf circled him. Nymeria smelled at his feet before leaping back and letting out a loud howl. Shaggydog accompanied her. Soon, the entire pack joined in, filling the air with tremendous howling.

As the howling subsided, Rickon heard the crunch of snow underfoot. He turned to see a woman walking out of the wolfswood. She was dressed poorly for the weather of the north, with thin clothing and no cloaks or armor. Rickon thought she looked like a ghost even though her skin was darker than most people in the North. However, there was a bluish tinge to her skin over her fingers and lips.

Without pause, the woman walked up to Gendry. She was tiny compared to him, but he seemed to shrink in her presence. Standing a few feet away from Gendry, the woman paused. Rickon watched as she closed her eyes and began to fall forward. Quickly, Gendry rushed forward, catching her in his arms. 

The pack of wolves surrounding them bristled until Nymeria and Shaggydog snarled loudly, silencing them. Rickon regarded the wolves carefully before joining Gendry. By the time he got there, Gendry had the woman bundled in his cloak and pressed tight against his body.

“She’s freezing,” Gendry mumbled.

Rickon swallowed. “Is it—?”

“Yes.”

“Take her to the godswood,” Rickon said quickly, eyeing the surrounding wolves. “The hot springs—”

Before he could finish, Gendry was off, rushing through Winterfell. People looked on, trying to ask about the wolves, but Rickon silenced them all, going to call for Sansa. He ran through the keep and pounded on the door to her room. After a few seconds, the door opened.

“It’s Arya,” Rickon rushed out. “In the godswood—”

Before he could finish, Sansa ran off and Rickon followed closely at her heels. Rickon could feel the quiet intensity of his sister forcing everyone away from them, and they faced no opposition on their way to the godswood. Just before they entered, Sansa ordered men to stand guard and allow no one in. By the time they reached the Heart Tree, Gendry was already in the pool with Arya, their clothes plastered to their skin. Rickon frowned.

“You’re going to freeze like that,” he said. Gendry didn’t spare him a glance. Rickon went on. “The cold will freeze your clothes the second you leave.”

Finally, Gendry looked to him. “I can’t leave her,” he said. “Not again.”

Sansa huffed out a breath. “For the both of your sakes, you should,” she said gently. “Go tend to yourself. I’ll watch her.”

Without waiting for a response, Sansa stripped down completely. Both Rickon and Gendry looked pointedly away until she was in the water. Then, she took Arya from Gendry’s arms, holding her gently. Gendry splashed out of the pool, and Rickon held out his cloak to him.

“Find Sandor,” Rickon said. “Tell him where we are and to bring clean clothes for my sister. Food, as well.”

Gendry nodded and rushed off. Rickon could already see the hems of his clothing freezing. Turning to his sisters, he found Sansa working off Arya’s clothes. Rickon rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a dagger. He leaned over the pool to help steady Arya, and Sansa took the dagger to rip off some of Arya’s more stubborn pieces of clothing. Once the pile of fabric was accumulated on the snow, Sansa took Arya back, holding her like a child in her arms.

“I haven’t seen her since we were separated at King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered. She gently stroked Arya’s face, her thumb brushing a smattering of freckles that ran across her nose. “She’s grown so much.”

Rickon didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t remember either of his sisters from before. Seeing them again felt completely unreal. Instead, he just said, “She looks like Jon.”

Sansa smiled up at him. “She’d love that,” she mumbled. “Arya and Jon always looked the most like Father. They were so close before he left for the Wall. It makes me wish she could see him again.”

They sat in silence in the godswood for the next hour. During that time, Sandor came with food, drink, and a bundle of clothes. He stayed with them a while, never saying a word, but Rickon caught quite a few lingering glances toward his sister. After a while, Gendry returned with Nymeria and Shaggydog following close behind him. Sandor jumped back from seeing another direwolf, but when Nymeria just settled near Gendry with her snout over the water, everyone breathed out a sigh of relief. Shaggydog sat down next to Nymeria, watching over the area.

After another hour had passed, Sandor urged Sansa to get out of the pool. With only a little resistance, Sansa handed Arya back to Gendry so he could carry her into the keep. After drying her off, Gendry carried out the task with Nymeria at his heels. Then, Sansa splashed out of the pool. While Rickon averted his eyes, he heard Sandor helping Sansa back into her clothes.

“We’ll have to watch over her closely,” Sansa said. Rickon watched her reach out for Sandor’s arm before letting her hand fall. “She nearly froze to death… Oh, I can’t even imagine the things she’s been through…”

“I’m going to write to Jon,” Rickon said abruptly, standing up and brushing the snow off his body. “He’ll want to know. He’ll want to come back.”

“Jon is Lord Commander,” Sansa said. “He can’t abandon his post for this.”

“Then, I’ll give him a reason to,” Rickon said. “I’ll legitimize him.”

\--

Everyone at the keep skirted around the Starks for the next few days. Arya stayed asleep in her bed, but the color slowly returned to her skin. Sansa stayed by her side as much as possible, only leaving to make sure the keep ran as needed. Gendry never left. He stayed in her room the entire time, taking all of his meals there and watching over her with Nymeria at his feet.

Rickon tried to keep busy. He was stuck in a place where he wanted to watch after his family, learn to run a kingdom, and run off to Shireen. Deciding between the three was becoming more and more difficult for Rickon. Being surrounded by people who were so obviously in love was draining him. He had packed the marriage cloak a while ago, but he found himself pulling it out more and more just to run his hands over it.

Sansa caught him one day. She had just been bringing him a meal with some books on ruling when she found him brushing his fingers over the direwolf pin. “Will you tell us about her?”

Jumping at the noise, Rickon tried to hide the cloak from sight, knowing it was useless. He could feel his face burning, but he ignored the sensation. “I don’t think…”

“You don’t have to,” Sansa said, placing the tray down. “I just want you to be happy, Rickon. You’ve been through so much… so young, and I wish you’d have something to yourself.”

“I have Shaggydog,” Rickon said, looking over to the sleeping direwolf.

Sansa sighed. She took a seat on the edge of his bed and reached out to comb his hair down. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have other comforts,” she said gently. “Even Gendry looks to Arya now, and I—”

“Are you going to marry Sandor?” Rickon blurted out. 

He watched Sansa look worried and flush slightly before clearing her throat. “I was thinking of perhaps helping forge an alliance for the North.”

Rickon narrowed his eyes at her. “You love him.”

Sansa’s face went a bright red. “I don’t—how could you think that?”

“You always reach for each other and walk together,” Rickon muttered. He stared at the floor in attempt to hide his face. “He looks at you like you’re the only person who matters. And you try to ignore it, but you love him.”

Slowly, his sister relaxed, giving him a soft look. “Did you meet her on Skagos?”

“This isn’t about me,” Rickon shot back.

Instead of shying away, Sansa pulled him into a hug. “How else would you know so much of love?” she asked gently. “It’s nothing to hide.”

Rickon could think of a number of reasons to hide it, but he still couldn’t think of a way out of this. She knew this too well, and he was very obviously still in love with Shireen. Regardless of how he tried to hide it, he knew he could never give her up.

“You do need a wife… and a queen,” Sansa said, stroking his hair. “Write to her, ask for her hand.”

Rickon could feel tears stinging at his eyes. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be enough. He was stuck where he was, just as she was. They had each other while they could. It was too late to change that. He didn’t want to admit it; he didn’t want to acknowledge that he lost her. Bracing himself for whatever was to come, he pulled away from his sister. Just as he was thinking through a proper response, the door flew open.

“She’s awake,” Sandor said. He held out a hand for Sansa, and she spared Rickon a short glance before taking his hand and running out.

After taking a deep breath, Rickon followed them. In Arya’s room, Gendry was holding one of her hands tight in his. Arya was sitting up straight, and she looked full of energy. Arya’s eyes flicked over to them when they entered, and she gave them a smile. Sansa climbed onto the bed with her, giving her a tight hug. Rickon entered slowly until Sandor shoved him toward the bed. Stumbling slightly, Rickon caught himself at the foot of her bed.

“Rickon?” Arya breathed out. Nodding slowly, Rickon watched Arya open her arms for him. Carefully he climbed onto the bed to join his sisters, and soon they were a heaping, crying mess. Rickon allowed his self to relax in the moment. Then, they began to exchange stories. Rickon already knew Sansa’s, and he told his in short, clipped phrases. Arya’s, though, was completely new.

She told them of her escape from King’s Landing with men of the Night’s Watch, headed to the Wall; how she met Gendry and they discovered who the other truly was; their journey to Harrenhal and meeting the Brotherhood; her short escape before being captured by Sandor (who gruffly apologized); how she left him for dead after arriving at the Twins too late; and her final flee to Braavos to join to House and Black and White before her return.

“Why did you return?” Sansa asked. “You were safe over there.”

Arya shook her head. “I was never truly Faceless,” she said. “Even with all the training, I always knew who I was. And I – I had a dream. There was a war in the North, and I needed to come to fight.”

“The war is past,” Sansa said. “Rickon fought off the Ironmen. We’re at peace now.”

“Not the Ironmen,” Arya said. “The war wasn’t with Ironmen. It was further North… against something else.”

Rickon bristled. He remembered the talk of the men of the Night’s Watch. They all seemed to fear the land Beyond the Wall, particularly when he asked to go out. Even Jon was reluctant to let him go. And he had been attacked.

Arya noticed his movements. “You know?”

“Yes,” Rickon said. “I don’t know how we can hope to win, but we’ll have to fight.”

“You’ll kill yourself,” Gendry said, giving him a knowing look.

“I have to try,” Rickon said, getting off the bed. “Jon is coming, and I’ll return with him to fight. I’ll have all our bannermen join the cause. We will hold off the threat.”

“You don’t owe the South anything,” Gendry said slowly.

“You know I do,” Rickon replied, sweeping from the room. He needed to send forth messages, and this time they needed to reach the entire realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Starklings! My favorite!
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said I'd update more regularly when I finished writing this to completion?

Sending forth messages to the entire realm was extremely time-consuming, and Winterfell didn’t have the ravens necessary to complete the task. Still, they sent out all the messages they could, calling for all the northern lords to assemble and for the southerners to send armies north. While tending to all the summons, he also watched over Arya’s healing process, which went a lot smoother than he anticipated, but it also meant that she was soon pestering him just as much as Sansa about who he wanted to give the marriage cloak to.

The presence of his sisters made a huge difference on how easy it was to manage things, though. Sansa had assigned roles to several people about the keep, and Rickon found himself with a castellan, a maester, a septon, a master of arms, a master of horse, a cook, and a smith. Suddenly, people weren’t asking him directly for things, and Rickon felt like he had both more and less responsibilities.

Arya adjusted to life in Winterfell quickly, going out to head sword-fighting lessons with Brienne and keeping the people of Winterfell ready for combat. Sansa and Arya had one argument that he knew of, before they became quite comfortable in each other’s presence, although he was positive that they still fought. Rickon walked out to watch them tend to their duties during the day.

“Coming to practice, little brother?” Arya called, spinning her sword about in a complicated pattern.

“Ah, yes,” Jaime said. “Let’s see how the King of Winterfell fares in one-on-one combat.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him and beckoned Rickon forward. Slowly, Rickon went into the courtyard, facing off against his sister. Arya was much shorter than him, but Rickon was wary just watching her hold the blade. He felt grossly out-of-practice.

“Tell me,” Arya said slowly. “How long have you been training?”

Rickon laughed, throwing his head back and adjusting his sword. “I only started learning at Castle Black,” he said. “No more than 6 or 7 moons ago.”

Arya raised her eyebrows at him. Then, she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, little brother,” she said gently. “I don’t think this will be a very fair match.”

She leapt at Rickon, side-stepping and twirling out of his reach. Rickon tried to stay on the defensive, dodging the thin blade that eerily reminded him of the Others. It was a strange sparring match to watch with Arya’s foreign training and Rickon’s lack of any. He fought as he always had, wildly with wide slashes and quick jabs. On the other hand, Arya looked as if she were dancing. It didn’t take long for Rickon’s sword to clatter out of his hand. In the small moment when Arya relaxed, he pulled out a dagger and lunged at her. Taken slightly by surprise, it took Arya a few moments to recover and go back on the offensive. Soon, that was out of his hand, too.

Arya hesitated, keeping her guard up. Rickon’s hand automatically jumped to his other boot, but he knew that that knife was with Shireen. He eased off and put his hands up in surrender.

“I thought you would have another blade,” Arya said, lowering her guard. Her eyes were still narrowed at him.

Rickon shook his hand. “Not anymore,” he said. “But it looks like our men will be well-trained under your hand.” He retrieved his weapons, before standing off to the side of the yard, watching the daily activities go by.

“Not like what you’re used to?” Arya asked, leaning up against the railing next to him. They were watching the people in training depart for the day, worn out and tired from the hard training under Arya’s and Brienne’s tutelage.

“Not at all.” Rickon turned to face her, taking a deep sigh. “I never had to fight anyone on Skagos. The Skagosi fought mostly for sport or for hunting. I didn’t imagine coming back to Winterfell, much less actually fighting a war.”

“And you speak well,” Arya said, giving him a smile.

Rickon tried to maintain his composure. “I had a tutor,” he said shortly.

“And your woman?” Arya asked simply, as if she were discussing the weather. Rickon felt his face flush, but he tried to glare at her. Arya threw her head back with laughter. “I won’t ask then. But your lords will expect a marriage soon.”

Rickon took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts of Shireen and the marriage cloak from his mind. No matter what he did, or how much time had passed, she still sat on his mind as if he could return to her at any moment. He knew she was beyond his reach now, and he tried to reconcile himself with that fact.

Rickon found himself riding out on hunts more and more to avoid discussions. He was again trying to balance the lords of the North with his responsibilities as king, and it was becoming more and more difficult. They had short councils regarding the upcoming war they’d go forth to fight that started as praise for the return of the Stark sisters and devolved into arguments about whether they should abandon their keeps for a futile war.

The combined intensity of Rickon and his sisters made it easier to get them to listen. With Gendry and Sandor flanking them, no lords dared cross them once they came to a decision. After the lords left one evening, Rickon went straight to his rooms. He glanced over to the pack holding the marriage cloak. He hadn’t looked at it in the last two weeks since Sansa caught him with it. He was immensely glad that his sisters had dropped the subject, but the northern lords were just as eager to press him about providing an heir. Since Lyanna Mormont had returned to give council, the lords pressed for a marriage harder than ever. She kept a reasonable distance, though, never seeking him out apart from their meetings. Rickon was thankful for the distance, not wanting to egg on the northern lords any more.

Rickon fell onto his bed. He just wanted the wars to be over. Dealing with pressure from every northern lord was more than he bargained for. After a few minutes, his door banged open and Arya entered quickly with Sansa at her heels.

“You’ve received a raven,” Arya announced loudly.

“Arya, stop,” Sansa said, trying to snatch the message away.

Rickon paid them no mind. His sisters got along very well, but they still bickered about trivial matters constantly. “What is it?” he asked, sitting up.

Arya held still and gave him a sad look. “I’ve read it,” she said. Rickon tilted his head, examining the message. He just made out the Baratheon sigil when he jumped forward for it. “Hold on!”

“It’s mine,” Rickon growled out.

“I know,” Arya said. “But we’ve read it already.”

“Then, give it here.”

Reluctantly, Arya handed the letter over, and Sansa watched him carefully the entire time. Immediately, Rickon noticed that the parchment was in poor condition. There were spots where the ink had run and died, a few holes in the paper, and it was even folded poorly. Sitting down on his bed, Rickon read the letter, feeling his sisters’ eyes on him.

_Rickon,_

_We’ve made it to King’s Landing. I’ve just received word that my wedding will be in two weeks’ time. I’ll not have time to journey North before then, and my father means to send a different envoy._

_I’m so sorry. I have done everything in my power to return to you, and I have failed. I will only be granted leave if my husband allows me after the ceremony and my coronation. My father has vied for my position on the throne and wishes me to stay. Regardless, I have asked to leave._

_Nothing can make this easier to write. I’ve harbored hopes of my return for so long, and I’d hoped they would come to fruition._

_I love you, Rickon. I will be yours, even if I must disobey every command I am given. I will come back to you._

_I love you._

_Shireen_

Rickon clutched tighter at the paper. He fought to keep his tears from falling, trying to keep his self together. He had to hold the North. He was doing it for her. Regardless of if she returned, he needed to protect her. He felt a sob building in his throat and tried to choke it down. He still wanted her. It had been so long, and he had hoped for her return more than anything.

“Rickon?” Sansa called.

He let out a low grunt in response.

“We’ve received the formal announcement as well,” Sansa continued. “For the wedding.”

She held it out, and Rickon glanced at it for all of two seconds before he spotted the word “Frey” and threw it into the fire. Part of him wanted to read her letter again, to feel her words again. But they weren’t a comfort now. They were just a reminder that he couldn’t have her.

“You deserve to be happy,” Arya said. “I’ve seen you glaring at Lyanna Mormont, and Shaggydog snaps at her often. You still need an heir, and there’s a woman willing.”

“She’s betrothed,” Rickon spat out. He could feel the anger in him dissipating into a hollow feeling of nothing.

“Go to her,” Sansa said. She moved forward and kneeled in front of him. Rickon met her eyes and looked away quickly. Sansa had such a maternal look there, and Rickon couldn’t stand it right now. “Rickon, go to her.”

“Jon will be here soon,” Rickon said, trying to focus on anything else. “We should be preparing for the war.”

“Rickon!” both women snapped at once.

“King’s Landing is more than a month’s ride away,” Rickon snapped back. “Even if I left now, I couldn’t make it.”

Arya came over to sit by him. “Are you going to let that stop you?” she asked. “Do you think Shaggy would let that happen? Are you going to give up?”

Quickly, Rickon got up, throwing on his cloak and rushing out of the keep. Shaggydog was in the courtyard. There was only a small chance, and he was cutting his window even smaller. He was wasting time. There was still so much to do and take care of.

Just as he slowed near the direwolf, Shaggy bowed his head. He wanted to go. He _had_ to go. If he could risk his life for her, he could ride there in time. Shaggydog could get there in time. And he certainly had to try. Quickly, Rickon jumped atop the direwolf. Just as he was about to turn for the gate, someone threw a bag at him. He caught it, rounding on whoever was slowing him down.

“Rations,” Arya said. “You’ll need it.”

Sansa handed him another bag. He took it with a small smile.

“You’ll watch Winterfell?” he asked.

“Just go,” Sansa urged. “ _Go._ ”

Rickon could already see people of Winterfell gathering around, questions on their lips. His heart was racing more than ever before. He had a chance. He could get there. He could steal her. He could have her. Digging his hands into Shaggydog’s fur, Rickon raced off. Sensing the amount of urgency rushing through him, Shaggydog ran harder than Rickon thought possible. Rickon had risked too much to let this opportunity go. He might be killed in King’s Landing, but at least he’ll have tried.

\--

It took everything Rickon had not to race Shaggydog dead. They needed time to eat and sleep, but Rickon found himself foregoing that once again. It was just like his last time running south. He’d completely worn himself out in attempt to distance himself from Shireen, but not this time. This time, he wasted no opportunity to sprint through all his energy in attempt to reach her.

Each time the sun set, Rickon put on a burst of speed to beat the moon. Once the moon had risen, they’d stop for sleep. At sunrise, they were off again. Every night, Rickon tried to keep count of the days, trying to figure out if he was making good time. He paid little attention to anything else. 

A few nights into his ride, he checked through all of his supplies. Sansa had packed him a pouch of gold, along with some hand-drawn maps of the Red Keep, pointing out the godswood and a few hidden passageways. There were also a multitude of rations for both him and Shaggydog. The other pack had only the marriage cloak in it. Rickon sighed, knowing that sisters had more hope for this journey than he did.

Still, he raced down the kingsroad, navigating around any settlements he came across. The last thing he needed was for the southerners to start spreading rumors of direwolves in the forest. He just needed to keep time and get there. After a week of travel, Rickon realized that he should have brought a map. He knew nothing of the South. He just used the cover of night to pass any major holdings without being spotted and ran along as fast as he could.

He started to feel the pressure of his timeframe on him when he started hearing more and more people talking about Baratheons.

When he finally made it to King’s Landing, he finally left Shaggydog to find his own way into the keep. Alone, Rickon sought out information regarding any weddings. He felt a definite lump in his throat when he found out that the sept was decorated in Baratheon colors, and worry was creeping into him. It wasn’t until he heard some men talking of a wedding on the morrow that he started racing to the Red Keep.

He had only just made it, and the sun was already starting to set. Finding a small place to hide, Rickon pulled out Sansa’s maps and memorized a path into the Red Keep. She had even marked down the rooms where Shireen was most likely to be staying. Carefully, Rickon wandered around the edge of the massive castle, looking out for a hidden ladder. The light was dimming, and Rickon was stuck using his hands to feel out the way up. On the first landing, he skirted off into a passageway and met Shaggydog. Relying mostly on the direwolf’s senses, Rickon followed Shaggydog through the tunnels and deeper into the keep. 

Shaggydog walked soundly, even in the darkness. Occasionally, they stopped to listen for oncoming people, but they met no obstacles and emerged in a corridor of the keep. Rickon was completely lost, but Shaggydog immediately began smelling at the floor and searching out Shireen’s scent. Soon, he was racing through the keep, only stopping to hide out of sight from guards wandering the halls or any servants. After quite a bit of rushing about, they stopped in front of a door that Shaggydog nosed at.

Rickon stepped forward, easing open the unlocked door. Shaggydog alerted to a sound and ran off through the hallways. Seeing no other option, Rickon closed the door behind him and crossed the room to hide near a window using the bed as cover. He didn’t know who was coming, but it was sounding more and more like a large group. Holding his breath and looking just over the massive bed that hid him from view, Rickon watched a woman enter.

Her hair was done up in a complicated knot, and she was wearing an elaborate southern gown. Then, she turned toward the room, and the moonlight hit her greyscale. Rickon’s heart skipped a beat. Shireen was right there. She was standing mere feet from him. If only the other women would leave. The door opened wider and another lady came in. Rickon hid.

“I don’t require any assistance,” Shireen said. “I’ll manage for tonight.”

“Yes, my lady – er, princess,” the other girl said.

Rickon listened for the sound of the door closing and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. Now that she was there, he just wanted to go to her, but his feet refused to cooperate. Before he could make himself known, Shireen spoke to the room.

“I know you’re hiding,” she said. “And you should be warned that I killed the last man who tried to harm me. Come out.”

Taking a deep breath, Rickon soothed his nerves. Slowly, Rickon stood up from his hiding place. Shireen was standing before him, tall and stoic in her gown. A knife – his knife – was in her hand, pointed directly at him. He gave her a smile and asked, “Have you really killed a man?”

The knife clattered to the floor. “Rickon!”

Shireen rushed at him, and Rickon easily opened his arms for her. Without hesitation, her mouth was on his. She gripped at his shoulders tightly, dragging him closer, and Rickon responded entirely. They were hungry for each other, desperate to be closer than ever before. Their tongues danced in each other’s mouths and Shireen let out a moan. Rickon sighed out his love for her, and she returned the sentiment, never breaking their kiss. She pulled away the slightest before Rickon pulled her closer, attempting to lift her in his arms but getting caught in her skirts. He growled against her mouth, and she bit playfully at his lips in return.

They were lost in sighs and hums. Before long, Shireen was seeking out the ties of his clothes, and he was slowly unknotting her hair. Without moving away, he asked, “Who destroyed your hair?”

Shireen laughed, finally separating to help him. She sat on the bed, and Rickon moved behind her, pressing his chest against her back and kissing her neck. Shireen giggled as his hands circled her waist. “The Southern ladies thought I should be dressed appropriately for court.”

After quite some work and even more kisses, Shireen’s hair fell in gentle waves about her face. Rickon moved so he could face her fully, reaching out to stroke his fingers against her greyscale. He was at a loss for words. She was here. He had her now. Reaching around to her back, he began loosening her gown.

Shireen leaned into his neck, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so happy to see you alive,” she said. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “How was the war?”

Rickon just shook his head. “I’m not here to tell you of the war,” he said simply. He pulled out the strings of her bodice and found more underneath. “What’s this?”

Shireen flushed. “My handmaidens thought my betrothed would like me if I were thinner,” she mumbled.

Moving to stand behind her, Rickon went to rip apart the strings with his teeth. Then, he pressed kisses up her spine as his hands freed her. Shireen let out a loud sigh. Rickon pulled off her dress entirely, leaving her in only a shift. He swallowed hard and said, “I came because you sent word of your marriage. And I promised that I’d kill any man who tried to marry you if you wanted me to.”

“Rickon…” Shireen reached for his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, catching her hand and looking directly into her eyes.

Shireen responded by kissing him full on the mouth, dragging him down onto the bed and pulling him close. Rickon wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t care what anyone else thought of her. She was his.

“Will you come with me?” Rickon asked, moving back to capture her lips quickly. “I want to show you something.”

“Here in the keep?” Shireen asked.

Rickon nodded, pressing his nose into her neck and dragging a hand through her hair. It was much longer than before, but just as soft. After a moment, Shireen agreed and he helped her into the grey northern dress that she kept. Then, he led her out into the hallways.

Shireen followed, asking, “How do you know your way around the keep?”

“I have a map,” Rickon said simply. “Sansa drew it for me.”

Shireen stopped dead in her tracks. “Your sister?”

“Both of them, actually,” Rickon said. He turned to face her and grabbed her hands. “My sisters came back, Shireen. They’re alive.”

Shireen hugged him tightly before they continued on their way again. Slowly, but surely, Rickon took her to the godswood. He felt Shireen grip his hand tightly as they approached the Heart Tree. Rickon was a little disappointed that it wasn’t a weirwood, but he felt Bran’s presence when he brushed his hands against the bark of the oak. Bran seemed to be laughing at him, and Rickon felt his face flush.

“Shireen Baratheon,” Rickon said as loud as he dared. 

Shireen sucked in a breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. Rickon turned to face her fully and took her hands in his. She was shaking, and he could see the tears swimming in her eyes. This would be his only chance – _their_ only chance. He intended to make the most of it. 

“Let me make you a Stark. Let me keep you safe and protected as long as I live; allow me to call you my wife. Before the old gods of the North, I swear my love and allegiance to you, if you’ll have me.”

Tears were falling down her cheeks, but Shireen took in a shaky breath before nodding vigorously. Rickon reached forward to hold onto her hands before trying to find Shaggydog. The direwolf padded into the clearing without a sound, but Shireen turned to face him anyway. Rickon took the bag from around Shaggydog’s neck and said, “We brought you a gift.”

Shireen opened her mouth – to question or protest, he never knew. She gasped loudly when the marriage cloak unfolded in front of her, and Rickon spun it out to wrap her in it. He carefully managed the direwolf clasp at her throat before smoothing it over her shoulders and pulling out her hair. Rickon could feel his heart pounding. Finally – _finally_ – she was his. Before his gods, he would have her forever.

As if she sensed his thoughts, Shireen lifted a hand to cup his face. “I love you.”

With those words, Rickon was suddenly calm. That settled it. No one could question their marriage. “I love you, too,” Rickon said, leaning into her to claim a kiss from his wife.

Shireen pressed up against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Holding her by the waist, Rickon pulled her flat against his chest, letting his fingers skim the lining of the marriage cloak. With a small hum, Shireen pulled away. “Does this mean we can have a proper bedding?”

Rickon laughed, leaning forward to capture her lips again. He moved his arms around the cloak and lifted her into his arms. Shireen let out a small yelp, looking over to Shaggydog with a surprised look on her face. Rickon nudged her greyscale with his nose. “Only if you insist, wife.”

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but seriously: How often do you guys want me to update this thing?


	32. Chapter 32

Rickon wasn’t sure how no one caught them on the way back to her rooms. They were a mess of giggles and laughter the entire way, stopping constantly to poke fun at the other and to share kisses in the halls. By the time they got to her rooms, Shaggydog was lying down before the door, wagging his tail happily at their arrival. Rickon could feel the excitement of the direwolf flooding his own system, and he watched Shaggydog nudge at the door with his snout to open it for them. Shireen grinned at the direwolf before turning into Rickon and pressing the bridge of her nose into his neck.

Entering the room, Rickon went straight over to the bed, placing Shireen down on the edge. Shaggydog entered behind them, pressing the door shut with his body and going down to block further entrance. Shireen tugged on Rickon’s sleeves, pulling off his loosened shirts. Rickon reached forward for the clasp of the cloak, but Shireen hit his hands away.

“This is mine,” she said. “And though you are the only one who can remove it from me, I will _not_ let you do so tonight.”

Rickon grinned at her. Instead he took her face in his hands, placing one of his knees on the bed to move closer to her. Moving his hands down to her waist, Rickon found the ties of her gown, thankful for the simplicity of northern gowns. With slow, soft movements, Rickon pulled the gown from her body before working at her shift. Shireen just smiled up at him, the light of the moon reflecting off her eyes, making the blue of them even brighter.

Shireen’s hands rested against his waist, and Rickon could feel a massive heat growing from her touch. Her fingers trailed slowly around his hips, and Rickon gasped against her mouth before kissing her with a renewed fervor. He was tempted to rip through her shift entirely, if only to get next to her sooner. Shireen’s hands began working at his breeches, expertly pulling apart the ties. He finished her shift faster, pulling it from her body and leaving her fully exposed in the moonlight.

Quickly, Shireen drew her hands away, covering her stomach with her arms. Her face was bright red, and Rickon remembered her comment from earlier. He gently grabbed her by the wrists and began pressing kisses to her stomach. She wasn’t nearly as thin as she had been before, but she still looked just as beautiful, just as perfect. If anything, she just looked as if she had been eating properly in her time away from him.

“You’re beautiful, Shireen,” Rickon said slowly, working his way up between her breasts and allowing his hands to roam over her abdomen. “You’re my wife, and you’re perfect.”

Shireen reached for his shoulders, pulling him back down against her. She kissed every inch of his face, and her hands found their way into his hair. Combing through it, Shireen hummed against his mouth, and Rickon felt her relax. Then, he stood up and removed the remainder of his clothes. Shireen breathed out a small sound as he climbed back over her.

Stretching out on the bed next to her, Rickon touched her greyscale gently. Shireen leaned into his touch, and Rickon smiled at her. Slowly, their fingers and hands explored the other’s body, tracing gentle patterns into the exposed flesh. It didn’t take long for them to seek out kisses again, and their heavy breaths filled the bedchamber. Shireen eased off as Rickon pressed her onto her back and peppered kisses all over her face.

Bedding her now would be fine. She was his wife. Any child born of their joining wouldn’t be a bastard. Though Rickon would have happily claimed all of Shireen’s children as his own, the thoughts of fathering them made his heart race. She would have his heirs – _their_ heirs. And their child would rule Winterfell.

His body seemed to remember her, and it was far too easy to find the places she liked to be touched, the places she liked to be kissed. With a full, languid kiss, Rickon pressed into her, watching her eyelids flutter and feeling a sigh escape her lips.

She seemed to remember him, too. All the small motions of their times at Winterfell were suddenly alive in the bedchamber. Apart from their marriage now, they were paramours, and they remembered how to love the other in every way.

Shireen seemed unable to keep apart from him for even an instant. She continuously pressed him closer, finding every bit of skin to kiss and suck. Rickon never stopped his rhythm – the rhythm they had found together a few moons ago. He knew that pleasing her and having her was all that mattered, and he would gladly work her over until she was fully satisfied. Sweeping his hands over her body, Shireen responded to the touches with the same amount of enthusiasm as she had before, if not with more. Rickon could feel her seeking out everything he had to give her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

When she sighed out his name, Rickon’s breath caught. Suddenly, the fact that this was their wedding night was all too clear in Rickon’s mind, and he pulled her closer, increasing his speed, and tried to draw out the familiar signs of her pleasure.

They came together in a rush of loud sighs and heavy breaths. Shireen’s arms wrapped tight around his neck and his held her close. Slowly, they readjusted their positions, moving down beneath a sheet. Although winter was close to King’s Landing, the heat in the room was nearly unbearable if not for the love they bore each other. Rickon held her against his chest, and Shireen hooked a leg over his and settled against his shoulder.

Rickon pressed a kiss against her brow, sweeping her hair away. “My wife,” he said slowly, looking down and seeing her glance up at him. He swept his hands ever her stomach, and he added, “and our heir.”

Shireen moved closer against him, looking down. “I hope it’s a boy,” she whispered.

Rickon lifted her face to look at him. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Whatever child we have, they will hold Winterfell.”

“Or the Iron Throne?” Shireen asked.

Rickon chuckled. “If your father doesn’t have my head first.”

Shireen stretched up to kiss him. Then, she let out a heavy sigh and looked out the window. “Today is my wedding day.”

“I’ve already married you,” Rickon said, holding her closer.

“Rickon…”

Rickon let out a groan, pulling Shireen closer. He could feel her heart beating against his, and her eyelashes were brushing his neck. He looked down at her and combed her hair over her shoulder. “I can’t lose you again,” he mumbled.

“You’re not losing me,” Shireen said, but she didn’t meet his gaze.

Rickon tightened his grip on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I’ll fight for your hand.”

“They’ll have your head,” Shireen murmured.

“It’ll be worth it,” Rickon sighed.

“No,” Shireen said firmly, leaning up on her elbows to look down at him. “I forbid it. You cannot risk your life for me.”

Rickon pulled her back down for a kiss. He brushed his fingers over her cheeks and into her hair. “Oh, Shireen… I already have.”

\--

After an honest effort to enjoy his night with Shireen, Rickon found that he couldn’t sleep. Shireen had captured all his attentions again, and the thought of keeping his consciousness from her for something like sleep seemed ridiculous to him. He spent the night watching her, stroking her hair, and listening to her small breaths. 

Again, she was right about their current situation. He wouldn’t survive this time in the South, especially if he tried to escort her to her wedding. Regardless of their marriage before his gods, she was betrothed to another, and her honor would hold her to that promise. Rickon carefully pulled the marriage cloak fully over the two of them, spreading it out to cover her entire bed. Shireen settled even more fully against his chest, and Rickon could feel the pang in his heart.

Slowly, he dragged himself out of bed and pressed a few light kisses to her face. He needed to be gone by sun-up. Rickon wasn’t worried about her. Shireen would be safe here: she was the Baratheon heir to the throne. On the other hand, the southerners would have him executed for messing with their princess. With a heavy sigh, Rickon forced himself to dress and leave her room, stealing a final kiss from his sleeping wife.

It didn’t take long for Rickon to realize that it was impossible for him to leave King’s Landing. He had to know what came of today, and he had to protect Shireen if she was forced into an awful marriage. As the sun rose, Rickon decided that he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave her somewhere she could be harmed without his protection.

As flocks of wealthy lords and ladies began moving to the sept, Rickon followed them, leaving Shaggydog to slink about in shadows and stay hidden at a safe distance. He wasn’t dressed nearly as nicely as the other lords, but no one paid him much attention. Making his way to the sept, Rickon entered slowly, frowning at the conversations he was overhearing. Most of the people around him were discussing Shireen far too openly. They were quite eager to spread rumors of her affliction and how dangerous she would be. Her father was also discussed at length as being a cold, hard man who showed no kindnesses. Rickon was immediately annoyed. 

Still, he pressed through the crowd, finding a seat a few rows from the front and just a few feet from the center aisle. Rickon also wasn’t fond of the sept. He felt trapped in this room, regardless of its size. There was an awkward shape to it, as well, and Rickon couldn’t fathom how people had any sort of comfort here. He sat down, watching people trail into the room. He bit his lip, seeing them in all their finery. They were dressed in rich colors with ostentatious embellishments, and Rickon still had his sword on. No one seemed to notice or care, though. He just needed not to call any attention to it.

A hush fell over the crowd. Several people stood up. Rickon didn’t see what the fuss was about. There was just a rather plain-looking man approaching the septon at the front of the room. That was the Frey. Rickon frowned hard, glaring at the man. He didn’t even seem to be enjoying the day. The room fell into a cacophonous bout of chaos again. Rickon tried not to pay them any attention.

Rickon didn’t realize that anything was wrong until he looked about the room. He spotted Ser Davos Seaworth whispering into the ear of another man. When Rickon found the Baratheon sigil on his breast, he realized that that man was Shireen’s father. Shireen must be late. Steeling himself, Rickon nearly marched over to demand Shireen’s hand in marriage. However, an uncomfortable silence swept the room. Turning back, Rickon saw that the doors to the sept had opened, and Shireen was standing in the doorway.

With slow, careful steps, Shireen made her way to the septon, passing Rickon unknowingly. He wanted to reach for her once more. He wanted to let her know that she wasn’t alone here.

The septon cleared his throat loudly. “Who comes before the Seven?” he asked loudly.

“I, Shireen of the House Baratheon, heir to the Iron Throne and princess of the Seven Kingdoms,” Shireen said, stepping forward. 

Rickon heard a slight waver in her voice. Carefully, he scanned her body for any other signs of distress. Shireen was fairly steady on her feet, though she was dressed in an elaborately-embroidered gown. Her hair was only partially tied up, covering the collar of her marriage cloak. Rickon couldn’t help but notice that it bore the Baratheon sigil on the back of it. She had safely chosen not to wear the Stark cloak. 

Rickon looked back to the septon just as he asked the Frey to remove her cloak and replace it with his. Shireen’s hand jumped to her throat, pressing against her collarbone. Still, she bowed her head slightly and allowed the Frey to find the clasp. He somehow managed the task without stepping any closer to her. There was a look of disgust on his face that he made no effort to hide. Then, his face twisted as a loud gasp ran through the hall.

Shireen’s Baratheon marriage cloak had fallen to the floor, lying in a heap at her feet. And the Stark cloak was about her shoulders. Shouts immediately filled the hall and Rickon glanced over to see both Ser Davos and Stannis Baratheon looking both confused and slightly distraught. Looking back to the front, Shireen was still bowed over, not looking up at the Frey. He was yelling at her, and he raised a hand as if to strike her.

Without sparing any time to think through his actions, Rickon bolted forward. He pressed past the people sitting around him and ran up the steps, drawing his sword in the process. He leveled the blade at the Frey, watching his eyes widen with fear. The offending hand froze on its way to Shireen. Rickon noticed that he chose the side so as to not touch her greyscale. He pressed the blade further toward the Frey and more shouts, then a sudden quiet filled the room.

“If you dare touch _my wife_ ,” Rickon growled out. “I will have your head.”

A rush of murmurs filled the room. Rickon didn’t let his eyes leave the Frey, though. He watched the man’s bravado fade completely as he stepped back a few paces. Then, he felt Shireen’s hand on his arm, lowering it. He felt a distant grumble building in his chest—Shaggydog was mad about it. Sheathing the blade, Rickon turned to face her.

“Rickon, please,” she said, her eyes swimming with tears.

Rickon grabbed onto her hands. “You’re my wife,” he said, stepping closer to her.

Shireen nodded. Then, she gestured to the direwolf clasp. Rickon could feel the stares of everyone in the room. They were all waiting on him. He could either start a war right now, or lose his head. Rickon let out a sigh, reaching for the clasp. He brushed a thumb over it, looking into her eyes. Shireen was trying to hold back her tears, obviously agonized by this decision.

With no care at all for propriety, Rickon held her face in his hands and moved their lips together, kissing her deeply before all the lords and ladies gathered. He felt Shireen whimper against his mouth, and he pulled her tighter against his body. If this was to be the end of their marriage, then he would do everything he could to show her his love.

Shireen’s hands grabbed weakly at his sides when he started to pull away. Resting his forehead against hers, Rickon spoke up loudly to make sure everyone could hear and said, “I love you, Shireen.”

“I love you, too,” Shireen replied, stretching up to kiss him lightly.

Rickon bit his lip, finally steadying her by the shoulders and reaching for the direwolf clasp. A loud bark rang in his head, and Rickon froze. Shireen looked at him expectantly. Rickon shook himself, allowing a small glimpse into his direwolf. Shaggydog was watching a massive shadow moving over the city, approaching the Red Keep. There was a strange urgency to Shaggydog’s senses, and Rickon could feel the threat looming in. Falling back to his senses, Rickon gave Shireen a hard look. “Do you trust me?”

Shireen nodded.

Putting two fingers in his mouth, Rickon let out a sharp whistle. The audience in the room was looking on, watching the happenings with confusion and curiosity. Then, Shaggydog ran through the doors, a large black beast amongst the finery of King’s Landing. Several people screamed, backing away from the direwolf. Rickon stepped toward him, taking one of Shireen’s hands and leading her down the steps. Without pause, Rickon lifted Shireen by the hips and placed her onto Shaggydog’s back. He reached under her skirts and pulled his knife from her boot, thankful that she still kept it. Handing the knife to Shireen, Rickon rubbed Shaggydog between the ears, and the direwolf raced off.

Rickon turned sharply, ignoring the blubbering septon and the Frey to walk up to Ser Davos and Stannis Baratheon. He recognized a look of hatred on Stannis’s face, and Davos nearly matched him.

“Where have you sent my daughter to?” Stannis demanded, seizing Rickon by the collar.

Pushing his hands off forcefully, Rickon said, “Safety, I hope. But there are more important matters to attend to than a wedding.”

He turned to face the audience. Most people were still looking his way and sharing whispered secrets with one another. Rickon ignored all of them and went straight to the main door. Stannis and Davos followed closely at his heels.

“What matters?” Davos asked, just before they reached the door.

Rickon turned to face the two men. The brightness of his vision changed as something massive moved overhead. “Dragons have descended on King’s Landing.”


	33. Chapter 33

Any thought of the difficulties of convincing these men to believe him immediately vanished when the loud ear-splitting shriek of a dragon filled the air. Suddenly, they were on alert, searching the skies for wings. Rickon looked around, also searching for the source of the sound. He felt the rumble of Shaggydog’s growling resonating deep in his chest, and Rickon started racing off to the Red Keep. He didn’t know the distances of King’s Landing, but he didn’t think he could beat a dragon there.

Rickon ran hard, intent on getting back to Shireen before anything else could get to her. She had Shaggydog now, but even the direwolf would be a poor match against a dragon. He could hear the pounding of feet behind him, and Rickon assumed that Davos and Stannis were following him. The gates of the Red Keep opened before him, and Rickon reached out for Shaggydog, following the feeling to the throne room.

He didn’t stop running until he collided with Shireen, holding her tight in his arms. She breathed out a sigh and hugged him back. Pulling away, Rickon took her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones. A tremendous roar traveled through the walls, and Shaggydog bristled.

Rickon turned to face Stannis and Davos, refusing to release Shireen. Still, she pulled away.

“Father, what happened?” she asked, walking over.

Stannis just shook his head. Rickon thought that he looked torn between telling her off and being relieved at her safety. They stood in silence for a moment, waiting with bated breath to see what their futures held.

The doors to the throne room opened, and a group of three people walked in. A fairly young girl, only a few years older than Shireen walked in first. She had the presence of power about her – a conqueror. Her hair was a strange silver color and her eyes were distinctly purple. On her right was a much younger girl with darker skin, but she still carried herself with a large amount of pride. The other was an older man, almost elderly, with long white hair and a lined face. Rickon watched the party approach, eyeing them carefully.

Beside him, he heard Shireen let out a small huff before she strode over to greet them. Rickon was in such a state of shock, he froze watching her go.

“Your Grace,” Shireen said loudly, curtsying. “You must be Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

The woman smiled. Next to Shireen, she looked extremely small, but she bowed her head in respect. “And I hear you are the Baratheon usurpers.”

“That would be my uncle, I’m afraid,” Shireen said. “The kingdoms have been long at war to decide the fate of the Iron Throne.”

The Targaryen walked forward slowly, placing Shireen in the middle of her party. Rickon tensed, feeling the urge to pull her to safety. The Dragon Queen, however, paid her little attention. “I see,” she said, looking around the room. “And you are the current heir to this throne?”

“I am my father’s only child, yes,” Shireen said. Then, she nearly doubled over, clutching at her stomach.

Rickon made to get to her side, but the Targaryen woman beat him there. Still, she supported Shireen delicately, holding onto her shoulders and trying to bring her upright. Shireen tried to wave her off, but the woman didn’t release her hold. There were hushed whispers exchanged before she stepped away. Rickon took three large steps forward to hold onto Shireen.

“She requires bedrest,” the Targaryen woman said. “Perhaps a small meal as well. Ser Barristan, please escort the Lady Shireen to her chambers.”

The old knight stepped forward, but Rickon shot him a glare that made him stagger back. Then, Shaggydog was beside them, going down on all fours. Rickon helped Shireen onto the direwolf’s back and gave her a light kiss before she departed. Then, an uncomfortable quiet fell over the group.

“And you’re a Stark,” the woman said, breaking the silence and stepping toward him. Rickon didn’t falter from her gaze. “How fitting… the two great houses that destroyed mine are still in my home.”

“We played only a small role in your downfall,” Rickon said, remembering his lessons from Shireen. He briefly recalled all she had told him. “And only for justice.”

“Justice for stabbing my father in the back?” she asked.

“For burning my grandfather alive,” Rickon said darkly, narrowing his eyes at this woman. “And forcing my uncle to strangle himself in attempt to save him.”

The woman looked at him with a shocked expression. Then, her resolve strengthened. “I suppose your father had to avenge them.”

“He had demanded my father’s head,” Rickon said, thinking back hard to remember his lessons. “All because Rhaegar wanted my aunt.”

“You blame my brother?” the woman asked, walking slowly around him.

Rickon swallowed. It would be easy to place the blame and press on with facts. That wasn’t why he was here, though. “The blame doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “I only wish to return North with my wife.”

He could feel Stannis’s anger, but he focused his attention on the Targaryen. She was surely out for blood. She turned swiftly to face Stannis. “And the Baratheon men?” she demanded. “I suppose you’re here for my throne?”

Rickon turned to watch Stannis and Davos exchange a look. Then, Davos stepped forward. “King Stannis has inherited the throne by right,” he said evenly. “Being the eldest sibling of Robert Baratheon, it is his.”

“I suppose even usurpers have rules to follow,” the woman said. “But I intend to sit that throne by my birthright. And I will not be stopped.”

The younger girl came forward, standing by the Targaryen’s side. Her golden eyes seemed to sparkle as she placed a hand on the Targaryen’s arm. “We wish to avoid a war,” she announced, giving the woman a significant look. “Perhaps we can come to terms.”

Stannis grumbled. “There are no terms,” he said. “My daughter will sit the Iron Throne. It is her right. You know that, Selmy.”

Everyone turned to face the old knight. He simply bowed his head. “Yet another claim has been made,” he said. “Even Robert’s bastards have a claim to the throne. There can always be another way. Queen Daenerys has proven herself to be quite capable.”

“King Stannis,” Davos said. He sounded apprehensive. “Perhaps there is a way to come to terms. We could avoid war, further bloodshed, and avoid titles of usurper.”

With the agreement from both sides, they all sat on the floor of the throne room, ready to discuss the future of the Seven Kingdoms. Rickon knew he had little part from this. They quickly decided that he would keep his title as King in the North, and spoke as if the North was no issue. Sitting back, Rickon listened, watching them discuss the many outcomes possible, and how they could best go about pleasing everyone. Occasionally, there was a break in conversation where they tried to remember what happened previously, and he provided history where he remembered it from his lessons with Shireen. They spoke for hours on end, sending forth confused servants to bring food and drink. Rickon made it a point to bring up the coming war beyond the Wall, trying to press how important it would be to tend to it. After quite some time, the issue appeared to be settled.

“You’ll name me heir?” Daenerys asked, still eyeing Stannis suspiciously.

Stannis exhaled a long breath. “The throne was promised to my daughter,” he said. “Though, I see no other option… Only if she concedes it to you.”

“And we’ll have all armies sent North?” Rickon asked, looking around the room.

“The threat of Others must be dealt with,” Stannis agreed. “My army will return to fight.”

“And my dragons,” Daenerys said. “If there are any kingdoms to protect, we cannot abandon the North.”

“You’ll keep your title, then?” Davos asked, looking at Rickon.

Rickon still didn’t care much for his title. He looked directly at Stannis. “Shireen would be Queen in the North,” he said.

Stannis still looked sour about everything. “Have her decide her titles, then,” he said. “Though, I expect her safety.”

“I’ve already killed several men who would do her harm,” Rickon said.

“And she one herself,” Davos said, laughing.

Rickon resisted the urge to grin. Shireen hadn’t been lying about the man she killed. He felt his heart swell with pride.

“Then, we have our terms,” the young girl said. She turned to face Daenerys. “You have only to discuss matters with the Baratheon princess.”

Daenerys nodded, standing and stretching from her spot on the floor. 

Rickon stood, too. “Allow me to escort you,” he said.

Daenerys turned to Ser Barristan, waving off his offers of help. Then, she turned to Rickon. “Thank you, King Stark,” she said with a smile. Rickon led her through the keep up to Shireen’s room. The Dragon Queen was quite a petite woman. She looked tiny next to him. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. “You mean to watch me and make certain of your wife’s safety.”

“Aye,” Rickon said, looking to the woman.

“You haven’t been married long,” she said.

Not a question. Just an observation. Rickon didn’t respond. He continued on to Shireen’s door, stopping a few feet away. He gestured to it. Daenerys turned to face him.

“I would like to offer my apologies,” she said. “For my father’s actions. I had no idea. But I hope that Starks and Targaryens can become allies.”

“And Baratheons can hold Storm’s End?” Rickon asked.

Daenerys smiled at him. “Who else?” she said warmly. “Could I speak to her alone? I promise you that no harm will come to her.”

Rickon was not ready to trust this woman. Still, he nodded. All the alliances negotiated rested on this meeting. Daenerys slowly approached the room, cracking the door open slightly. Rickon was surprised that Shaggydog didn’t bark at her, and he was further shocked when Shireen sent the direwolf from the room. Standing outside, Rickon felt a multitude of nerves running through his system. He wasn’t afraid. Shireen was armed. She had killed a man. She could defend herself against the small Dragon Queen.

It was perhaps an hour later when the door opened again, and Rickon breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Daenerys emerged, a happy smile on her face. “We’ve reached the same terms,” she announced. “I wish you happiness with your Queen in the North.”

Without responding, Rickon rushed into the room. He leapt onto the bed, pinning Shireen down. She laughed at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Rickon ran his hands through her hair, before helping her to sit up and holding her close. “My Queen,” he whispered into her ear.

Shireen smiled and kissed his cheek. “My King.”

\--

Rickon accompanied Shireen back down to the throne room where Stannis was deep in conversation with Davos. They both shot hard looks over at Rickon, so Shireen went to go talk to them. Rickon watched Shireen carefully, knowing that she was likely to receive some harsh judgement because he married her last night. Still, she held herself well, never backing down from the harsh tones of her father. Shaggydog bristled at Rickon’s side. They were too far away to hear anything, and Shaggydog was moving toward the doors, following a scent. Rickon let the direwolf wander, continuing to look after Shireen. Stannis and Davos now had confused looks on their faces that settled into a look of polite concern. Shortly after, the entire group walked up to him. Rickon swallowed hard.

“Rickon,” Shireen said slowly. She had a small smile on her face. “This is my father, Stannis Baratheon.”

Stannis held out a hand, narrowing his eyes at Rickon. Gripping his hand tightly, Rickon tried to meet his gaze. Stannis released his hand, and looked back over to Shireen. “I expect you will take care of my daughter,” he said. “Especially since the war is coming.”

Rickon nodded. “The war may be coming,” he said. “But so is Winter. Shireen will be safe at Winterfell. I will see to it personally, if need be.”

“And when do you depart?” Davos asked.

Shireen reached out for Rickon’s hand, looking up at him. “Soon, I hope,” she said.

Rickon couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “As soon as you’d like.”

They didn’t even stop to pack. Shireen only wished to see Daenerys and bid her goodbye. They found her in the courtyard next to a massive black dragon. Shaggydog let out a low growl until Shireen placed a hand in his fur. Rickon couldn’t take his eyes off the dragon. Never in his life had he seen a creature so big, and he felt an overwhelming sense of fear at being near the dragon. Even Shireen stopped a good distance away. Daenerys took notice of them soon enough, walking over.

“Your Grace,” Shireen greeted, giving her a small bow.

“Please, call me Daenerys,” she said. “After all, you are king and queen yourselves. Are you leaving already?”

“Better to leave now than to invoke the anger of the Freys,” Shireen said. “I’d prefer to be far from King’s Landing when the announcements are made.”

Daenerys laughed, reaching out to pull Shireen into a tight hug. “I will see you soon, then,” she said, pulling away. “I’ll be taking my dragons North for the war.”

“There are more?” Rickon asked, trying to imagine anything more terrifying than the dragon currently resting in the courtyard.

“Two others,” Daenerys said, looking over to the dragon. “They stayed with the Targaryen forces while I came to negotiate terms.”

Rickon slowly reached for Shireen’s hand, pulling her closer to him. Shireen went willingly, leaning into him. Daenerys gave them a soft smile. Rickon pressed a kiss to Shireen’s hair. “Ready to go home?”

Shireen looked up at him, stretching to press a light kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Let’s go home.”

They met with Davos at a small wharf in Blackwater Bay. He had a few prepared bags for them, readied on a sizable boat. Rickon was surprised to see Shaggydog’s enthusiasm in getting on the boat. He had a feeling that Shaggydog just wanted to leave King’s Landing.

“We’ll be sailing to Duskendale,” Davos said, prepping the boat and helping Shireen in. “From there, you’ll be free to travel North. I’ve packed you a bag, and I suggest you avoid the Twins.”

Shireen laughed. “I’ve no intention to visit ever again,” she said, sitting down next to the direwolf.

Rickon held onto Shireen the entire time, remembering the last time he sailed. Just like when he left Skagos, he was heading to Winterfell. This time, Rickon was looking forward to it, ready to show off Shireen to the entire North. As they approached the larger ship that would take them away from King’s Landing, Shireen wrapped her arms around Rickon, hugging him tightly. Rickon returned the hug, holding her against him.


	34. Chapter 34

It didn’t take long to return to the mainland, for which Rickon was extremely grateful. He wasn’t fond of sailing, and it seemed to be causing Shireen tremendous illness. Touching down at Duskendale, Rickon was glad to be back on solid ground, despite his need to hide Shaggydog from sight. Luckily, Shireen agreed to travel without stopping at inns, so they took off on Shaggydog. Traveling through the woods atop a direwolf who was eager to return North was by far one of the best ways Rickon had ever traveled. Shireen took well to traveling over land, helping out wherever she could in preparing fires and meals.

Rickon was happy to just be with her for the entire journey. He was overjoyed at being able to finally have time with Shireen again, away from the prying eyes of anyone else. Oftentimes, he would suddenly remember that they were married now and get caught up in trying to kiss her. Shireen seemed to be spending time laughing at him more than anything, wrapping herself in the marriage cloak and cuddling up next to him.

Shaggydog was also very close the entire time. He never went off far to hunt and would curl around Shireen every night. The direwolf kept other predators away, allowing them to travel quickly so long as they avoided common roads.

After a few days of travel, Rickon found Shireen sitting at the foot of a tree, picking at a scattered pile of firewood. She was completely curled in on herself, her chin resting on her knees. Rickon slowly went over and squatted down in front of her. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she met his gaze with a determined look.

“I have to tell you something,” she said abruptly. Her hands gripped at her cloak – not the marriage cloak today – and pulled it tighter around herself.

Slowly, Rickon took a seat close to her, moving the firewood further away. He placed a hand over her boot, giving it a gentle squeeze. Meeting Shireen’s gaze, he saw her eyes began to fill with tears. “What’s wrong?”

Shireen was silent for a long moment, looking around at the woods. Shaggydog joined them, laying down and leaning against the two of them. Blinking away her tears, Shireen met Rickon’s gaze. Then she took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she mumbled.

Rickon blinked at her. The words were having a hard time taking root in his mind. He quickly tried to reason it out. Unfortunately, he wasn’t terribly familiar with how children worked. “But… it’s only been a week,” he said slowly. “How…?”

Shireen shook her head slowly. “No,” she mumbled. “I – it’s been a while…”

Rickon rocked forward, running his hands over her arms. “Shireen, did someone hurt you?”

Tears began falling from her eyes in earnest as she shook her head. “No… I – Rickon…” Shireen was staring at him, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly. Rickon reached out a hand and pressed it gently to her greyscale. Shireen swallowed and met his gaze steadily. “Rickon, it’s yours.”

Quickly, Rickon searched her face. She seemed to be waiting for him to respond. Rickon’s hand fell from her face, seeking out the opening in her cloak. He pressed his hand over her stomach, feeling a small bump there. Eyes widening, Rickon glanced down before meeting her eyes again. “It’s… mine?”

Shireen nodded slowly, sucking in a quick breath.

“You didn’t… the moon tea?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, Shireen,” Rickon breathed out, moving forward and pressing their lips together. He felt her shake with a sob, so he wrapped his arms over her shoulders. Rickon pressed kisses all over her face, only drawing away when she started giggling. He grinned at her. “We’re going to have a child.”

Shireen nodded, smiling now. Rickon pressed against her to steal more kisses, moving her onto his lap and letting his hands roam over her stomach. She let out a moan against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close. Slowly Rickon pulled away, furrowing his brow. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Should you be riding? And sleeping on the ground…? And what about that—”

“Rickon, it’s fine,” Shireen said, running her hands through his hair. Her fingers traced over his ears before moving over his lips. “I’m fine. We’re going to be okay.”

Rickon leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Then, he wrapped her even tighter in his arms. “We’ll stay at an inn tonight,” he said. “And I will get you to Winterfell as soon as possible.”

\--

Keeping his promise to Shireen, Rickon paid for a room at an inn every night, making sure she had plenty to eat and even more time to rest. Every night, he took care of her, watching over her, bathing her, and taking a huge interest in her growing belly. He was surprised to find that it could possibly swell so much, and he loved to run his hands over her stomach, amazed at the fact that a child – his child – was growing there. Shireen laughed at his constant attentions, watching him touching over her stomach and pressing kisses over her skin. 

Rickon’s worry over her safety and their child dissipated the further north they traveled. During the day, Shaggydog ran nearly nonstop. Their only pauses were for water and food, allowing them to cover as much land as possible. They continued to avoid all major holdings, and occasionally traveled through the night to pass the attention of southern lords.

As they traveled, Rickon asked her numerous questions: about her journey south, about the man she killed, about how a child could possibly be growing in her stomach. Shireen answered all of his questions, holding on to him as they continued their journey. They traveled through the forests and ensured that no one saw them, and Shaggydog took extra measures to keep away from any other people. Generally, they followed the kingsroad, and Rickon only relaxed once they were past the Neck.

Once they were in the North, Shaggydog’s energy seemed to spike, allowing them to travel even faster than they had before. Rickon continued to seek out small villages and inns to stay in for the nights. He had yet to be recognized, making sure to keep Shaggydog out of sight whenever he could. However, the closer they got to Cerwyn, the more he felt Shaggydog leading them on strange paths to avoid people. They were just outside the holding, when Rickon slid off Shaggydog.

“We’ll have to walk,” he said. He reached up to help her down as slowly as possible. “There are too many people.”

Shireen sighed, but accepted his help. They had been on the road for quite some time now, and Shireen’s stomach was incredibly large. Rickon had allowed her to get down on her own once before he saw how much she struggled with the task. Leaning against Shaggydog, Shireen waited as Rickon unstrapped all their bags from the direwolf. Shaggydog started growling before Rickon finished, and Shireen turned to face whatever the direwolf saw.

“Oh,” she breathed out.

Rickon quickly walked around Shaggydog, grabbing Shireen’s hand and reaching for his sword. Shireen pushed her hand against the hilt of his sword, stopping it from being drawn. She gestured toward a small boy looking out from behind a tree. Hesitantly, the boy stepped forward, bowing slightly.

“Your Grace,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

Looking to Shireen, Rickon tightened his grip on the sword. He breathed out a heavy sigh and turned to face the boy. He appeared to be awestruck.

“You’re the King in the North,” he said, glancing up to Shaggydog.

Rickon ground his teeth together, knowing that they couldn’t make it through this holding anonymously. He turned to look at the boy. “We require an inn for the night,” he said. “Could you lead us to one?”

“Yes, my king,” he said, bowing. He looked behind him, sneaking glances at Shaggydog. “Um, this way.”

Rickon felt extremely tense, walking through the area. He kept a tight hold on Shireen, making sure she was safe walking through the snow. Shaggydog also refused to leave their side, accompanying them to the inn. The direwolf drew everyone’s attention to them, causing onlookers to stop and bow, staring at Rickon. He sent off Shaggydog once they got to the inn before entering after Shireen. She looked a little tired, holding onto her stomach and rocking slightly on her feet.

“Our finest room, Your Grace,” the innkeep said, handing him a key and gesturing upstairs. He fumbled with another key. “And one for…”

“No need,” Rickon said, as Shireen grabbed onto his elbow for balance. Frowning, Rickon dug through a pouch for gold, pulling out a few coins and tossing them at the man. “Food, please. I can come down in a bit for it.”

“I’ll have my wife deliver it personally,” the man replied.

Biting down his comments, Rickon turned to Shireen, holding her carefully as they went upstairs. Shireen managed it slowly, her belly becoming the largest obstacle for her to face. He didn’t release his hold on her until she was safely seated on the bed in their room. Not long after, the innkeep’s wife entered with a large tray of food.

“You didn’t need to—” Rickon started feebly.

“It’s no trouble, Your Grace,” the woman said, giving him a smile. “And I’m sure the lady needs it. Carrying a child is no easy task.”

Rickon bristled. He immediately wanted to correct the woman, let her know that Shireen was his wife and not some lady. She would be their queen. However, Shireen’s grip tightened on his arm, and his attention immediately went back to her. Rickon quickly pressed a cup of wine in her hand. Shireen recoiled from the glass, making a small choking sound.

“I don’t—” She sucked in a deep breath, turning away from the cup. “The smell…”

Turning back to the woman, Rickon asked, “Have you any—”

“I’ll bring up some honeyed milk,” she said, bowing and leaving the room.

Rickon sighed deeply, kneeling in front of Shireen. He moved the wine away from her, pressing a hunk of bread into her hand. She picked at it slowly, nibbling the smallest bites possible. Leaning onto her knees, Rickon pressed a hand to her stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking up at her.

Shireen nodded, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. “I’m fine, Rickon,” she said. “Just tired.”

Rickon grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “We can rest now,” he said. Then, he stood to take a seat next to her, pressing against her as much as possible. “Winterfell is only a day’s ride from here. We can stay as long as you’d like.”

The door opened again, and the innkeep’s wife entered slowly. Shireen immediately reached for the cup, drinking heavily. Rickon ran a hand through her hair. Glancing at the woman, he caught her narrowing her eyes at Shireen.

“Thank you,” Rickon said. He held Shireen tighter. “We’ll be fine for the rest of the night.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, bowing slightly and leaving the room.

Shireen began picking at the food, tearing into the meat and taking small bites. Rickon watched her carefully, making sure that she ate well. After a few minutes, Shireen began feeding him, giving him fairly small bites, too. Rickon accepted them, sucking at her fingers and licking them clean. Shireen giggled, offering him some of the drink. He took it, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“My wife,” he said softly, leaning onto her shoulder.

“My husband,” Shireen murmured, letting her head fall onto his.

Rickon wrapped his arms around her, trailing his fingers over her stomach. Shireen grabbed onto his hand, stilling it and pressing it against her stomach. A small definite movement hit his hand, and Rickon’s eyes widened. He looked up at Shireen.

“It moved,” he said, glancing back to her stomach.

Shireen nodded, rubbing a hand over her belly. “More and more now,” she said. “It has been about five months…”

“Has it really?” Rickon asked, furrowing his brow.

Reaching up, Shireen rubbed weakly at his jaw. “Well, we’ve been traveling for almost two, and it took you quite some time to come back to me.”

“I’d have come sooner had you asked,” Rickon pointed out, kissing her cheek. He corrected his self. “I’d have never left you if you asked.”

“But you are a king, Rickon,” Shireen said. “You had your duties.”

“And now I have you.” Rickon held onto her, pressing more food to her hands and making sure she ate. They did so in near silence, until darkness began creeping into the room. Then, Rickon went to light a fire. Once Shireen finished with the food, Rickon cleared that away as well.

Settling down onto their bed for the night, Rickon grinned over to Shireen. The months of travel had only made her stomach more massive, and Rickon leaned over to press a kiss to it before pressing another to her mouth.

Struggling only a bit, Shireen scooted back on the bed, making room for him. Rickon frowned at her. “Tell me,” he said slowly, stretching out beside her. He lightly traced his fingertips over her belly. “How did you plan on hiding this from that Frey?”

Shireen turned to face him, stroking a hand across his face. “Nothing was going to stop me from coming back to you,” she said firmly. “I was going to run North, take shelter in Winterfell, have your child… wait a few weeks… hope you’d steal me forever…”

“And then what?” Rickon asked, leaning into her, watching her eyes travel around his face.

“I don’t know,” Shireen mumbled. She met his eyes, just looking at him for a moment. Then, she leaned forward to kiss him. “I don’t care anymore. I have you.”

Rickon smiled at her, returning the kiss. Shireen settled into his arms, and Rickon’s hands roamed over her stomach. They were close to Winterfell now. With the news of Shireen’s pregnancy, their pace had slowed. Rickon hadn’t been expecting his journey North to be as hurried as his one South, and nearly two months _had_ passed heading up. At their current pace, they should reach Winterfell after one more day’s travel. Rickon was glad that the journey had been relatively stress-free. They hadn’t met any opposition, though Shireen seemed a bit worried about the problems her father was likely to be facing in King’s Landing.

“Winter is coming,” Shireen said the next day, looking up through the falling snow. It had been snowing constantly since they left Cerwyn, covering the land around them in a thick layer of ice.

“Stark words,” Rickon observed, smiling at Shireen.

She turned to face him, leaning back to brace herself on Shaggydog’s back. The direwolf was still moving steadily toward Winterfell, no longer racing, but pressing on. Shireen’s stomach was massive now, swollen with their unborn child. Rickon could no longer determine if it was actively growing, but he was still amazed at its ability to become so large. She reached out for his arm, holding herself steady. “Just a truth,” she said simply. “I’m sure the Citadel will be sending word soon.”

“No storms, though,” Rickon said, looking up to the skies. Shaggydog sniffed at the air, padding through slightly deeper snows. “We should make it to Winterfell soon.”

Shireen grinned, turning to look north. Leaning back against Rickon, she settled against his chest. “Home,” she said.

Rickon pressed his mouth into her hair, humming gently. “Home,” he agreed.

They continued on in silence for the next hour, watching the snow fall and listening to the quiet of the North. Rickon thought that Shireen fell asleep, leaning against him while riding Shaggydog. Tightening his grip about her, he clicked his tongue at Shaggydog, and the direwolf slowed slightly, gently stepping through the snow. Shireen was still until wolves started howling. Rickon felt a snarl rippling through Shaggydog. Pressing a hand to Shaggydog’s pelt, Rickon silenced Shaggydog, not wanting to wake Shireen. She stirred anyway, trying to stretch and grunting with the effort.

“Wolves?” she asked.

“A new pack is in the wolfswood,” Rickon replied, looking around. He helped Shireen sit up fully, letting her see the keep come into view. She pressed a hand to her swollen belly, suddenly looking nervous and worried. Curling in slightly, she glanced around, pulling her cloak around her shoulders. “Do you want the marriage cloak?” Rickon offered.

Shireen’s mood didn’t seem to change as she looked back to him. “What if they don’t like me?”

“I can kill them, if you’d like,” Rickon offered. He held her close, aiming for her greyscale and pressing a kiss to her ear when he missed. “After all, I can’t have my people insulting the Queen in the North.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just counted and figured out that I would actually be gone on the last two days of publishing this. I'm now compensating by doing two a day. Enjoy!

Riding into Winterfell was slow-going, if only because Shaggydog slowed even more every time Shireen made a sound of dissent. Rickon kept her as steady as he could, wrapping her cloak around her and keeping her pinned against his chest. Shireen would often close her eyes and let out large breaths of air, making Rickon worry about her more. She refused water and food, gripping her hands together until Rickon took them in his. He pressed her tight against his chest, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear until they reached the gates.

Despite being signaled by a guard earlier, they took a while in opening the gates, much to Rickon’s frustration. He kept a hold on Shireen, without bothering to dismount once inside. Shireen tried to tell him to go tend to his duties, but Rickon shushed her, continuing to ride to the keep.

The residents of Winterfell were looking on with curiosity, eyeing Shireen closely. She squirmed about atop Shaggydog, finding Rickon’s hand and gripping it tight.

“You didn’t tell me there were so many people,” she mumbled, looking down slightly.

“It didn’t matter to me,” Rickon said softly. “I was too worried about you.”

Just as they were entering the courtyard, Gendry ran in, only looking mildly surprised at seeing Shireen. “Rickon!” he called. “Um, princess…”

Rickon could feel Shireen rolling her eyes. “My name is—”

“Shireen, sorry,” Gendry said quickly, brushing off the matter. Shireen huffed, but Gendry went on. “Rickon – in the godswood, there’s—”

“Rickon!”

Rickon turned at the familiar call of his sister. He tried to ignore it the best he could and leaned over Shireen’s shoulder. “Would you mind a trip to the godswood?” he asked.

Shireen looked completely unconcerned with her own comfort at the moment. She still looked peeved about Gendry’s comment. Sighing, she turned to Rickon slightly. “I suppose we’ll have to be back there eventually,” she said. “We can go.”

Rickon laughed, turning Shaggydog to the godswood and leading them over. Shireen was much more at ease now, only resting back slightly against Rickon. He pressed his mouth against her hair and asked, “Why do we need to return to the godswood?”

“You’ll need to marry me again,” she said with utmost confidence. She shifted her weight, pulling the cloak tighter around her.

“I’ve already done that,” Rickon said. “The old gods will accept the marriage, and my family will believe me… Are you trying to get out of being my wife?”

Laughing, Shireen turned to press a kiss to his jaw. “Never,” she said. “I just don’t think your people will like it.”

“They don’t have to,” Rickon said. He wrapped his hand around her and rubbed over her stomach. “You’re _my_ queen, regardless of what they want.”

“Rickon, you can’t just rule like that,” Shireen protested, finding his hand and squeezing it.

Rickon shrugged, looking toward the Heart Tree. He could only just make out a small figure in the roots. “Well, the northerners should have thought of that before making a wildling into their king,” he said firmly. 

Then, he narrowed his eyes at the weirwood, trying to bring the figure into focus. Rickon stopped Shaggydog a distance away, sliding off the direwolf and pulling out a dagger. He squeezed Shireen’s ankle gently before walking forward. When the figure finally came into focus, Rickon froze, dropping the dagger. He could make out the recognizable Tully-blue eyes and dark reddish hair. Then, a smile greeted him – a smile he had only the faintest memory of from many years ago.

Rickon swallowed hard, hoping that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. He took a small step forward before choking out a small, “Bran?”

“It’s good to see you, Rickon,” Bran said, still smiling at him.

Racing forward, Rickon threw his arms around Bran, pulling him close. Bran returned the hug, resting his head on Rickon’s shoulder. Pulling away, Rickon finally got a good look at his brother. Bran had grown a lot in their years apart, though he legs still looked useless. His face was longer, and his expression looked older, wiser, than he expected. Bran’s hair was extremely long, mostly untamed, and he was still wearing thick furs.

Rickon’s eyes were stinging. He tried hard to hold himself together while the absolute feeling of awe washed over his system. He had great difficulty in finding his voice, and his thoughts were cleared only when Shireen called to him.

“Rickon?” she asked softly. He turned to her. Shireen was still atop Shaggydog, though the direwolf had gone down on all fours. She held her arms out weakly. “I’m stuck.”

Rickon glanced back at Bran, who gestured for him to go. Standing, Rickon brushed the snow off his body before walking over to Shireen and lifting her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, obviously having expected him to put her down. However, Rickon walked her all the way over to Bran, sitting her on a tree root. Bran smiled warmly at her and Shireen’s face went red. She pulled the cloak loosely over her stomach.

“No need to hide, goodsister,” Bran chuckled.

Shireen’s jaw dropped. “Y-you know?”

Bran smiled. “I started my return as soon as I found out.”

Rickon looked over at Bran, narrowing his eyes slightly. “How did you get here so quickly?” he asked. “I only… We only just…”

“Not the news of your marriage, brother,” Bran corrected. He gestured toward Shireen’s stomach. “Of your child.”

Shireen’s face flushed deeper as she looked down at her stomach. Rickon reached out for her hand. “But how did you know?” Rickon asked.

Bran looked at Shireen expectantly, and Rickon joined him. She returned the look before looking up at the face of the Heart Tree. “Oh,” she said softly. “I’ve been praying to Heart Trees… and I may have mentioned it…”

“You told Bran before me?” Rickon asked, somewhat in jest.

Shireen rolled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t _know_ I was,” she pointed out, shoving Rickon lightly. He let himself fall to the snow, sitting back up and leaning onto Shireen. She put a hand in his hair, stroking it gently.

After a while, Rickon looked back to Bran. “Have you only returned because of that?” he asked. “You didn’t come to rule?”

Bran shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t,” he said. “Not really…”

Rickon was shaking his head, about to question Bran further when a shrill voice came from behind him. “ _Of course_ he’s talking to Bran.” Sansa’s voice reached them across the way. “He _always_ goes to Bran before me.”

“Stop complaining,” came Arya’s voice. Shortly after, she stopped a few feet from the Heart Tree. She gave Shireen a questioning glance before sitting down. “So…”

Rickon shoved Arya’s shoulder. Then, he reached for Shireen’s hand. “Sansa, Arya,” he called loudly. “Come meet my wife.”

A sharp gasp came from behind him and Arya’s jaw dropped open. Sansa rushed to their sides, putting down a tray of food next to Bran. Immediately, Sansa hugged Shireen tight, drawing a surprised gasp from her. Arya was smirking at Rickon. “Wedded and bedded already?” she asked. “I suppose that’s one way to stop a wedding.”

“Shireen,” Rickon said gently, taking her other hand when Sansa moved away. “My sisters, Sansa and Arya… and Bran.”

“Not going to introduce me?” a familiar voice asked.

Rickon turned to see Jon strolling in after Sansa. He took a seat, completing the loose circle in the roots of the tree. Shaggydog came a bit closer, settling behind Shireen. Not long after, Nymeria and Ghost joined them as well. Rickon looked around expectantly, finding Summer wandering through the woods. Bran’s wolf settled down next to Shaggydog, biting his ear.

Biting back a retort, Rickon avoided looking at Jon and mumbled out, “You already know her…”

Shireen giggled, and Jon just shook his head at them. Jon set a stare at Rickon. “I thought I told you not to—”

Sansa hit Jon, silencing him. She appeared to have a smile permanently glued onto her face. She was looking between Rickon and Shireen intently. Rickon resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her, being drawn back to Shireen by her intense grip on his hand. She squeaked out a small “hello.”

“And you have an heir,” Sansa murmured. She looked positively lost in thought, staring at them.

Bran started laughing, picking at the food. “That’s old news, Sansa,” he said. “Months old.”

“What’s old news?”

Rickon jumped slightly, turning to the new voice. His siblings were entirely unconcerned with it. A short, slim woman walked out of the woods, taking a seat next to Bran. Rickon gaped at her. “Meera?”

She grinned. “Hello again, Rickon,” she said. “This must be your Baratheon princess. How’s the baby?”

“Meera knew, too?” Rickon asked, turning to Shireen again. “I suppose Jojen knows, as well?”

Bran raised his hands in surrender. “My fault, actually,” he said. “I told them.”

Rickon huffed, moving Shireen onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. “Not fair,” he mumbled.

“Hey, it’s your kid,” Arya said, nicking some of Bran’s food. Bran weakly swatted at her hands.

Sansa was still looking between Shireen and Rickon, smiling. “Will you marry here?” she asked. “So we can see your wedding?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Bran pointed out. “The old gods have recognized their union.”

“But it’s the king and queen,” Sansa said. “We should invite the northern lords.”

Shireen tugged on Rickon’s sleeve. “And Daenerys,” she added. “She’ll want to come.”

“Daenerys?” Sansa asked. Jon also looked confused, but Arya just nodded knowingly.

With a sigh, Rickon shifted Shireen’s weight slightly. Then, he leaned back against the tree root and said, “I suppose it’s time to tell you what happened in the South.”

His siblings looked on with rapt attention as Rickon told of his times journeying South. Bran nodded along most of the time, knowing most of the main events, but his sisters were shaking their heads at him, amusement on their faces. Jon, on the other hand, still looked a bit annoyed that Rickon pursued a relationship with the Baratheon princess despite his warnings not to at Castle Black. Shireen was still in his arms the entire time, and it wasn’t until Rickon finished telling his story that he realized she’d fallen asleep.

“So we’ll send out invitations for your wedding and coronation?” Sansa asked, looking up at the Heart Tree once Rickon finished.

“ _My_ coronation?” Rickon asked. He looked pointedly at Bran. “But Bran’s here. Even Jon could take the title.”

Jon shook his head. “Even though you made me a Stark, I’m not leaving the Night’s Watch,” he said. “With the war coming, they’ll need me.”

“And I couldn’t rule,” Bran said. “I can barely move… and there’s a good chance I’ll die soon…”

“What?” All the Stark siblings rounded on him.

Bran was looking down at the snow. Meera put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I – When we left, I knew there was a chance we wouldn’t make it,” Bran started.

Meera went on for him. “As it was, Jojen nearly gave his life to keep Bran alive as long as he has,” she said. “It’s been a long journey for us: losing Hodor in the North… But the war is coming, and we couldn’t leave you to fight alone.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “I didn’t even want to leave,” he said. “We’re already low on men who can fight, and we’ll need to reinforce the entire Wall.”

“Armies are on their way,” Rickon said. “Given our time spent travelling, they should be arriving soon, and we’ll head to war.”

“What of your wedding?” Sansa asked, obviously concerned with the matter.

“It can wait,” Rickon said. “We’re already married anyway. The war is much more important.”

With the light mood growing steadily heavier, the Stark siblings began their walk back to the keep. Jon helped Rickon with Shireen, and Arya gave Bran a ride on her back. They were quite a sight, heading back to the castle with four direwolves behind them. Any other residents they passed bowed respectfully, but Rickon was focused on taking Shireen back to their room. Jon helped them in, making sure Shireen didn’t stir. Then, Rickon went to light a fire for her.

“So why did you come?” Rickon asked. Jon gave him a confused look, so Rickon clarified. “You said you didn’t want to leave the Watch, but you’re here.”

Jon chuckled. “You didn’t deny my claim when you legitimized me,” he said. “I’d have ignored it if I read the message first, but my maester insisted that I come to relinquish my claim to your throne.”

Rickon shook his head. “I wanted it to go to Bran.”

“I remember,” Jon said. “Yet here you are, now with a queen.”

Rickon shrugged. “It could be worse,” he said. “We’ll have to soothe the northern lords, though.”

“I don’t think they stand a chance against the Stark force currently residing in Winterfell right now,” Jon said. “I will have other matters to discuss with you, though…” He gestured toward the door, and they went down to the hall for dinner. 

His siblings were already seated at the high table, along with Gendry, Sandor, and Meera, leaving open the king and queen’s seats and the one just beside them. Jon gave Rickon a nod and gestured to the throne. With a heavy sigh, Rickon went to stand in front of the seat. Immediately, the entire crowd of northerners stood before him.

“The King in the North!” Arya called.

The entire hall was filled with the calls: a loud, deafening sound that resounded through the entire keep. A loud howling joined them, silencing the crowd. Then, Rickon whistled sharply and Shaggydog entered the room, taking a seat at Rickon’s side. Not long after, Nymeria, Ghost, and Summer joined them. Rickon had to bite back his grin. The Starks had reclaimed the North.

Rickon raised a hand, preparing himself. “The Baratheons have acknowledged my claim to the North,” he began slowly. “We have come to terms with the Targaryens, as well. They will hold the South, and we will hold the North.”

He scanned the crowd quickly, looking for signs of dissent. Other than the surprise over the announcement of Targaryens, they were taking it rather well. Lyanna Mormont caught his eye. She was staring intently at him, a somewhat smug look on her face. Someone noticed the look and shouted, “And your wife?”

Rickon tried to look around for whoever had called. He looked back out to tell them, but a small creaking from the side of the room caught his attention. Looking back, he saw that the door just behind the high tables had opened, and Shireen was looking out, still hidden from view. With a grin on his face, Rickon walked over, offering his hand to her. He heard Sansa sigh behind him as Shireen stepped out slowly. Leading her to her seat at his side, Sansa said, “And his queen-to-be.”

Sansa had been just loud enough that a majority of the room heard her. The noise that filled the room was indistinguishable to Rickon, but Shireen gripped his arm tightly. Rickon held up a hand for silence. “May I present my queen,” he said, looking directly at Shireen. Her face flushed, and she bowed her head slightly. Rickon pressed his fingers to her jaw and lifted her face to meet her gaze. He added on, “Formerly, the princess Shireen Baratheon.”

Then, he kissed her: gently, soundly, in front of the entire hall. A tenuously applause filled the hall, with a few hoots and hollers. Rickon helped Shireen into her seat before taking his own. Everyone in the hall sat down, following Rickon, and food was served. Rickon shared his plates with Shireen, feeding her and murmuring into her ear to soothe her nerves. She settled after a while, laughing with him. His siblings all ate in peace, speaking amiably with one another. 

Once they were finished eating, Jon turned to Rickon. Shireen caught the movement and gestured for Rickon to turn to Jon. “Rickon,” he started slowly. “I realize you have been traveling, but could we discuss matters tonight?”

Rickon turned to Shireen first. She gave him a small nod before reaching for their shared cup and taking a drink. “Of course,” Rickon said. “We’ll have to announce the coming war and call for armies as well.”

Holding onto Shireen’s hand, Rickon slowly rose. Then, he helped Shireen to her feet as well. Once they were standing, Rickon faced the crowd. The hall immediately fell silent. Rickon took a deep breath before beginning. “Lord Commander Jon Stark has informed us of a coming attack from Beyond the Wall.”

If there was any noise in the hall before, it was in absolute silence now.

“The coming threat will go through the Wall and spread through the North if we do not offer our support,” Rickon went on. Shireen squeezed his hand tightly. “I will need every army to head North to aid the Night’s Watch against this threat.”

“Baratheon and Targaryen forces are already on their way,” Shireen added on. Rickon was surprised at the strength in her voice. “We will combine forces and defeat our common enemy to protect the realm.” 

Jon stood up and cut in. “The entire Wall must be manned and garrisoned,” he said. “Our current numbers stand no chance of survival against this threat.”

There was a small moment of silence. Rickon could feel the tension in the hall. “We will _all_ head North,” he said firmly. “For if we do not, there will be no reason to return home.”

Very few people were still looking up at him. They had been entirely unprepared for such dark news following the return of their king. Without a word, Rickon tugged Shireen to the door, leading her back to their chambers. As he expected, all of his siblings followed him, crowding onto his bed. The direwolves also joined them, making his room the warmest it had ever been.

“Jon,” Rickon called. “Your terms.”

Jon looked up, checking each of his siblings in turn. “When we win this war,” he said slowly. “I would like to change the oaths of the Night’s Watch. My men are known as liars and thieves. Positions on the Wall are seen as lowly, making it difficult to recruit members. I would have my men hold land and titles and have wives and children. They need a connection to the land and people they are protecting. If we are ever as weak as we are again, the entire realm will suffer.”

“Agreed,” Arya said. She crossed her legs, pressing down on her ankles. “We need protectors who actually like us.”

“Perhaps not a lifelong sentence either,” Sansa added on. “They should be given time to return to their families and watch their children grow.” Sansa’s eyes flickered to Shireen’s stomach.

“Surely, you aren’t planning on coming,” Arya said pointedly to Shireen.

Shireen let out a heavy sigh, turning to Rickon. “We’ve faced them before,” she said. Rickon felt a smile growing on his face despite the severity of their last encounter with an Other. “I cannot stop Rickon from fighting this battle. I know he will go if only to protect me. And I will be at his side as much as I can.”

Rickon leaned down, resting his head on her shoulder. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her close. Shireen turned to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. Taking a deep breath, Rickon let the scent of her hair fill him, hoping that he would never have to live without it.

“What of your child?” Sansa asked softly.

“If anything were to happen to Rickon, our child would lose their claim,” Shireen said, her voice growing smaller. Rickon felt a growl growing in his chest. “And should I have a girl, I’ll be seen as useless anyway. I cannot be queen without Rickon. I refuse to be.”

There was a small moment of silence. “Should we have a daughter,” Rickon started slowly. He took a deep breath. “Regardless of my fate, our child _will_ hold Winterfell. Son or daughter, I don’t care. I will write it into decree, and I will not leave you ever again.”

Shireen rolled into Rickon, holding onto her stomach. Rickon held her firmly, kissing the crown of her hair. Sansa didn’t stop smiling at them, and even Arya gave them a grin. Then, she turned to Rickon. “When do we head North?”

“Daenerys Targaryen is coming North,” Shireen said. “She is bringing her dragons.”

“Dragons,” Jon and Sansa said together, a look of wonder on their faces.

Bran cleared his throat loudly. “Speaking of Targaryens... there’s something you should know…” Everyone turned to Bran, watching him intently. Bran was looking solely at Jon. “You aren’t a son of Eddard Stark. Our aunt was your mother—Lyanna Stark.”

Jon blinked at him, and Shireen sat up further. Jon sputtered out a few syllables before asking, “Then who was my father?”

Shuffling a bit, Bran glanced around the room. “If all the stories are to be believed…”

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Shireen finished for him. Everyone turned to face Shireen. She flushed slightly before continuing. “Your aunt was engaged to my uncle, Robert Baratheon, but they never married. Rhaegar took her before that… which means… Jon is the heir to the Iron Throne.”

After a moment of silence, Jon let out a loud laugh. He shook his head. “Regardless, I am heir to nothing,” he said. “I’m sure the Targaryen girl would never legitimize a better claim than hers.”

“You _do_ have a claim,” Arya pointed out.

“I’m still a bastard,” Jon said, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “And I’ve sworn off all titles, sister.”

“Cousin,” Sansa corrected. She gave Jon a small smile. “You were our cousin… Father must have known.”

Bran let out a heavy sigh. Shireen tried to sit up further, failing and falling slightly into Rickon. He held her up, placing a hand on her lower back. Then, he turned to Bran, giving him a nod. “Dad knew,” Bran said simply. “He had promised Jon’s safety, though, and any Targaryen would be targeted by both Baratheons and Lannisters. Jon’s safety relied on him being a bastard of the North.”

Arya crossed her arms, frowning. “You’re still our brother,” she said firmly. “I don’t care what your last name is.”

Jon smiled at her. Rickon reached over to give Jon a pat on the shoulder. “You were always a Stark,” Rickon said. “Now, you have the name.” He felt Shireen’s weight press into him further, so he looked down at her. She yawned, curling into him and placing a hand on her stomach. Rickon smiled at her. “Sleepy?”

Shireen nodded, and the other Stark siblings slowly left the room. Rickon knew that Arya and Sansa were leaving to share the news with Gendry and Sandor, and he had Jon call for Meera to help Bran go visit Jojen in his chambers. With some difficulty, Rickon helped Shireen out of her dress. Because it took so long to manage that, Shireen opted to stay in her shift, and Rickon stripped down before joining her in bed. He opened his arms for her and Shireen curled into him. His hands immediately went to her stomach, placing their unborn child between them. He felt Shireen’s mouth press into his shoulder just before they both drifted off.


	36. Chapter 36

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend around Winterfell, but Rickon still got pulled back into his role as king. Thankfully, Shireen was eager to stay by his side and learn as much about the castle now that it was running. There were only a few times when she left his side, and they were always when she was accompanied by another Stark or Gendry. Shireen was extremely comfortable around Winterfell, enough so that Rickon got worried whenever she was left to wander. It got the point where Rickon started to send Shaggydog after her to make sure she was okay. No northern lords had made any sort of comment about Shireen, but Rickon caught a few glares in her direction.

In an effort to keep her safe, they shared all their meals, eating together and drinking from the same cup. Shireen called him silly for going to such lengths until Rickon reminded her that a majority of the north shared a mind with the wilding from the Wall.

“What if our child has the same affliction?” Shireen asked one morning, nibbling on a piece of bread in their room. She cautiously lifted a hand to her face.

Rickon grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face to kiss her cheek. “Shireen, our child will be fine,” he said. Rickon gently ran his fingers over her greyscale. “As a baby, you survived something that the whole North fears, something that can take the lives of men. You are strong, Shireen—stronger because of this. And if our child has an ounce of your strength, they will be fine.”

Shireen frowned at him for a moment before reaching up to kiss him. Rickon moved into her, savoring all of her kisses. They felt the coming war just as much as the other Northerners, and Rickon was going to spend every moment he could with her before then. His siblings had given them a wide berth, letting them be together. To do such, all of them had taken up time ruling Winterfell, allowing Rickon to wander the keep with Shireen. However, Rickon still got called in occasionally for his duties. After those times, he usually found Shireen in the forge talking to Gendry.

“You’re going to make my sister jealous,” Rickon told her, finding her in the forge once again.

Shireen grinned at him. “He knows my cousin,” she said, the grin never leaving her face.

Rickon knitted his eyebrows. “I thought he was your cousin.”

“He is,” Shireen said. She grabbed his hand and led him back to the courtyard. She pointed off to where Sansa was talking to a black-haired woman. “Another of my uncle’s children: Mya Stone. She helped Sansa escape the Eyrie.”

Rickon stared at the woman waiting for her to turn. When she did, Rickon was surprised to find that he didn’t think she looked anything like Shireen. She had the same coloring: the pitch black hair and Baratheon blue eyes; however, there was something about the way she carried herself that made her seem unlike Shireen at all. Rickon turned back to Shireen, watching her holding onto her stomach.

Then, a loud, sharp screech filled the air. Rickon glanced up, seeing the shadows of three pairs of wings circling Winterfell.

“Dragons,” Shireen said. “Shall we greet the queen?”

“You _are_ the queen,” Rickon told her. Still, he took her hand, leading her just outside the gates of Winterfell. Shaggydog fell in line behind them, nosing at Shireen’s hand. Shireen reached out to rub the direwolf between the ears, calming Shaggydog and making Rickon laugh. Shireen gave him a look. Rickon walked into her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I can feel that, you know.”

Laughing, Shireen led them back into the keep, going to help Bran outside. Rickon was surprised to see Jojen walking around the room. Ever since their return from beyond the Wall, Jojen had been on the brink of death, growing only marginally stronger as the days went on. Word of the war had worried him, but he resolved to help Bran however he could. Rickon gave Jojen a confused look.

“I’m not missing the dragons,” he said. Bran was grinning behind him, reaching for his hand. “Someone else will have to carry Bran, though.”

“I swear that’s all you think I’m good for.” Rickon turned to see Meera entering the room behind them. She immediately went over to Bran, helping him onto her back. As they left, Rickon caught sight of Bran reaching out to ruffle Jojen’s hair.

Shireen gave him a smile. “You’re okay with it?” she asked.

“I can’t be mad at my brother for finding someone he loves,” he said, taking her arm. Slowly, they went back outside. “Even if it means I sit the throne to keep him safe. I still have you, and my family is safe.”

“And you changed every law to suit your needs,” Shireen added on.

Rickon gave her a look. “They’re my laws,” he said. “And they benefit the entire North, not just my family.”

Shireen pressed a kiss to his shoulder, heading out the gates of Winterfell. The grounds inside wouldn’t be able to hold one dragon, much less three. Sure enough, there was a patch of melted snow around three incredibly large dragons: one black, one white, and one green. Standing before them was Daenerys Targaryen, talking to a man who was significantly taller than her, though he had the same silver hair. She turned as they approached, a warm smile growing across her face.

Rickon glanced back to see a majority of the residents of Winterfell watching from the battlements. All the Starks had left the gates, though, greeting Daenerys Targaryen with smiles and hugs. She took well to Sansa and Arya before giving Shireen a hug and admiring her stomach.

“Coming along well, then?” she asked. “And getting plenty of rest?”

Shireen nodded, running a hand over her stomach. Rickon stepped forward. “Our guest here at Winterfell,” he said, gesturing to Jon. “The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Stark.”

Bran cleared his throat loudly from behind them, and Jon shot a quick glare in his direction before bowing to Daenerys and shaking her hand. Before releasing it, he raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She flushed a deep red before she caught herself. “Um, my nephew, Aegon,” she said quickly, turning to the man at her side. “After the Baratheons step down from the throne, we wish to resume the traditions of the Targaryens.”

“With three rulers?” Shireen asked. “Will you take another husband or wife?”

“Unfortunately, neither may be possible,” Daenerys said. She linked an arm with Shireen’s and headed back to the keep. “Aegon was betrothed to Arianne Martell as a child…”

Rickon allowed the two to leave, turning to the other man who had accompanied her. Stepping forward, Rickon extended a hand to him. “Rickon Stark.”

“Aegon Targaryen,” he replied. He looked around, and Rickon caught sight of his violet eyes. Then, he looked over the keep and said, “So we head to war together?”

“Aye,” Rickon replied, gesturing into the keep. He led Aegon through the grounds, showing him around Winterfell. Slowly, Aegon told him his story of living across the Narrow Sea, awaiting his return to the Seven Kingdoms.

“And now that I’ve returned, I’m one short,” he said, laughing. Placing his hands on his hips, he gave Rickon a firm look. “I suppose Targaryens belong in the North as much as Starks belong in the South.”

They walked together, exchanging news of how they’ve managed so far. When they reached the godswood, Rickon turned to him and asked, “What of the Freys?”

“Gone,” Aegon said simply. Rickon furrowed his brow, giving the man a strange look. He clarified. “Walder Frey tried to declare war on the Baratheons for breaking a betrothal. I offered to fight in his stead and battle for the right to inherit the Iron Throne. The Freys accepted, and Rhaegal burned them down.”

Rickon couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that was building in his throat. “Who will take the Twins?”

“One of your cousins,” Aegon said. “Edmure Tully’s wife is a Frey, so their second son will take the twins.” The level of calm that Aegon responded to matters of the realm soothed Rickon’s worry. He was born to rule: that much was clear.

Rickon was surprised that both Targaryens were so calm about the matter of war. He assumed it was because they had dragons that could fight with them, and while Rickon had Shaggydog, he didn’t think the direwolf could do nearly as much damage as a dragon. They had a nice, rowdy dinner, with Starks, Targaryens, Baratheons, and most major houses of the realm in attendance. Shireen went to sit with Ser Davos for a time, talking with him about how King’s Landing fared, and Rickon caught Bran sliding into the seat next to Daenerys. He was, undoubtedly, trying to tell her the truth of Jon’s paternity. Rickon gave his brother an encouraging smile, looking over the crowd that looked surprisingly happy despite the coming war. He took a long drink, watching as Shireen approached him from the other side of the table.

“Come dance with me,” she said, holding out a hand to him.

Although Rickon did not think she was fit to be dancing, he rounded the table to meet her. “Can you even dance with your belly so big?” he asked, taking her hand.

She grinned at him. “We’ll see.”

Laughing, Rickon followed Shireen’s lead around the open space and a few minstrels began a song. Shireen was still fairly steady on her feet, and Rickon made more mistakes than she did, only needing to catch her when she got off-balance. When the song ended, Rickon spotted Aegon over Shireen’s shoulder.

He gave Shireen a deep bow. “My queen,” he said. “May I?”

Rickon handed Shireen over to Aegon and found Daenerys behind him. However, behind Daenerys, Jon was standing awkwardly. Rickon suppressed a smile. “Unfortunately, I never learned to dance,” he said. “Only my wife can lead me, but perhaps my brother could be of assistance.”

Daenerys looked over to find Jon, and the two danced together. Slowly, other lords and ladies filled the floor, moving about to the music. Rickon sat before the table, awaiting Shireen’s return. She took a seat next to him with some help. Then, she pressed her ear to his shoulder.

“My father is still in King’s Landing,” she said. “Davos controls his army because my father stayed to watch over the women and children who can’t fight… Will we win?”

Rickon met her eyes, no longer looking at the piercing color, but seeing the worry that was creeping over her optimism. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her greyscale. “We will,” he said firmly. “Then, we will be married, and you will have our child, and the realm will be at peace.”

\--

The road back to the Wall was harsh for Rickon, who had chosen to ride with Shireen and their army even though Daenerys offered a ride atop a dragon. Shireen had looked so nauseated at the thought that Rickon happily rode with her atop Shaggydog to soothe her. Jon and Bran had taken the ride, hurrying to the Wall to prepare for the war. Winterfell was all but abandoned, only Jojen Reed stayed behind, offering to watch over the women and children.

“He’ll be buried beside you,” Rickon whispered in Bran’s ear as he helped his brother atop the dragon.

Bran’s face flushed a deep red. “It was only just—”

“He holds Winterfell,” Rickon said. “All who hold Winterfell will be buried with our ancestors. Besides, as your husband, he would be at your side regardless.”

With a weak smile, Bran muttered out his thanks, focusing on the task at hand: staying atop the dragon for a ride. The dragons took off, and Rickon rushed the armies across The Gift with as much speed as possible.

As expected many men had quite a few complaints about the hard ride, but Arya managed to appear at the exact moment they began complaining. She would continuously point out Shireen and her pregnant belly, reminding them that their ride was easy compared to hers. Rickon was proud of Shireen for never complaining, and he safely led her North.

When they arrived at Castle Black, Jon immediately called in the lords to split up the massive army along the length of the Wall. Managing so many people was difficult, but with the dragons clearly visible on the field, it didn’t take much to force the men into line. The tension was palpable in the men who had been on the Wall the past few months. Apparently, the attacks from wights had been happening with increasing frequency. However, when they saw Rickon with the off-limits princess from before, all the men had erupted in laughter, patting Rickon on the back and congratulating him.

It didn’t take long for Leathers to walk up to Rickon. “Not a word, old man,” Rickon called out. He stepped forward in front of Shireen, looking defiant.

Biting back a laugh, Leathers held up his hands in surrender, eyeing Shireen’s stomach. “I told ye she was yer princess,” he barked out, finally succumbing to the laughter. “Looks like the wilding has himself a spearwife.”

Rickon shook his head. “She’s killed a man, and I’ll have her kill you, too,” Rickon threatened.

Leathers’s eyes widened at the comment, and he looked over Shireen again before he began laughing again. Rolling his eyes, Rickon just pulled Shireen through Castle Black back to his old room. With a small smile, Shireen went over to the bed, sitting down and patting the space next to her. Before Rickon could walk over, Shaggydog bounded into the room, hopping on the bed and curling around her.

Rickon walked over slowly, kneeling in front of her and pressing a kiss to her stomach. He felt Shireen sigh, digging a hand into his hair. “Promise me you’ll come back,” she mumbled.

“Nothing will keep me from you,” Rickon replied. He looked up at her, running a hand over her stomach. “Our family will be safe.”

Shireen nodded, but the worried look stayed in her eyes. Reaching out, Rickon ran a hand through her hair, slowly pulling her closer. He kissed her gently, pulling her down onto the bed. After a while, Shireen was kissing him back, gripping her hands in his hair. With quite some work on both of their parts, they managed to remove their clothing. Glancing up, Rickon found Shaggydog obediently blocking the door. He turned back and found Shireen grinning up at him. Moving his hands over her stomach, he leaned down to press kisses over it.

“Are you worried about bedding me?” Shireen asked, stroking his shoulders.

Rickon made a face at her. “You’re with child.”

“And I’ll still be afterward,” she said. “But should I lose my husband, I’d like a fond memory of him.”

Rickon kissed her deeply, pressing his forehead against hers when he pulled away slightly. “You are not losing your husband,” he said. “But I could never deny my wife what she asks of me.”

Focusing his attentions on her, Rickon made love to her slowly and carefully. He adjusted to her swollen belly quickly, gently pressing his hands over her and kissing it whenever possible. Shireen’s hands dug into his hair pulling him down for kisses occasionally, and her small noises of pleasure kept him going until she was satisfied.

Afterward, they curled into each other, arms wrapped tight around the other. Rickon swiped the hair off her brow, pressing a kiss there. Shireen was breathing evenly, resting on his shoulder. Just before she fell asleep, she mumbled, “Don’t leave me.”

Rickon hugged her closer, leaning his head onto hers. He knew that he would make it back, that he _had_ to make it back. He had a wife to care for, a child on the way, and a kingdom to rule. They were going to survive, and he was going to return to her no matter what. With another kiss to her brow, he murmured, “I will never leave you again” before falling asleep.

\--

The war raged on for weeks.

Before any of the Others were even in sight, wights continuously stormed the Wall. In preparation, pyres had been set up across the length of the Wall, and dragonglass had been distributed to every man, nearly depleting Dragonstone of its material. Warriors who carried Valyrian steel were spread out along the length of the Wall, knowing what crucial role they played in the battle.

The Targaryen dragons helped some, but not nearly as much as Rickon thought they would. The legions of wights appeared to be endless, never needing to stop for food or rest, and only through a sound rotation did they hold the Wall. Jon was constantly on the battlefield, only returning for the shortest amount of sleep before rejoining the fray. The four direwolves shared his mentality, taking down as many wights as possible and saving countless lives in the process.

Sansa mothered everyone, being sure to call back men who hadn’t had food or rest and make sure they survived. Along with that, she also kept a list of their fallen warriors, and Rickon was sad to see it grow every time he returned for rest.

Shireen was always thrilled to see him. Tears streamed down her face as Rickon assured her that he was fine, alive, breathing, and not frozen. She tended to him personally, calming Shaggydog and keeping him sane.

“It’s madness out there,” he breathed out, accepting a small bowl of soup. Sipping at the hot broth, Rickon moved Shireen away from the gates leading to the battle, checking on her stomach at every opportunity.

Still, he returned to the battle when he was fed and rested, kissing Shireen goodbye as he pulled on his helmet and readied his sword. It didn’t take long for the adrenaline of the battle to hit him again, walking between the blazing pyres that seemed as if they would never burn out. Fuel was constantly being added to it with all the slain wights and fallen soldiers.

When he finally felt like he was going to drop, the loudest screech he had ever heard pierced through the air, shaking the Wall with its high intensity. He staggered back, getting caught by Jon. Steadying himself, he spared Jon a brief glance. Then, he swallowed. There was finally a break in the onslaught of wights.

“Dragonglass,” Jon said firmly, drawing his Valyrian steel sword Longclaw. Rickon found himself wishing that he had a sword to swing instead of the small dragonglass dagger. Still, he gripped the blade and refocused on the battle, hoping that their forces spread word of the necessity for dragonglass quickly.

Rickon glanced around, taking in the war torn land beyond the Wall. Men were carrying bodies as quickly as possible from the area, throwing them into the pyres burning behind them. He stopped himself from trying to find his siblings. Sansa would have told him if any of them went missing. He would know. He would feel it. Shaggydog came to rest at his shoulder, letting out a loud, low growl. Rickon didn’t even bother trying to soothe the direwolf. He could feel the intense cold permeating from the snow-covered expanse before him. Undoubtedly, Shaggydog was feeling everything with much more force than he was.

Slowly, a massive Other stepped into view. Rickon felt his blood go cold. He remembered the feeling of being in combat with them. He knew what it felt like to be cut by that blade, and he feared facing them again, even with an army on his side. Several more Others stepped into view. Soon, they seemed to span the length of the Wall, spaced out evenly. A hush went over the area, readying itself for whatever was about to come. One of the Others stepped forward, and Rickon could see it staring straight in their direction.

“How trained are those dragons?” he whispered to Jon.

“Good enough,” Jon hissed back.

The Other raised his blade and a flurry of wights ran over the horizon, rushing at the Wall. The war was back on, and Rickon had to divide his focus between fending off wights and keeping an eye out for the Others who appeared to be strolling through the battle. He stayed by Jon’s side as much as possible, keeping him free to attack Others. With both Ghost and Shaggydog at their sides, they kept the area clear, pressing out the wights and fighting around the fallen bodies. Rickon fought entirely with the dragonglass dagger, watching the bodies shatter with a strike. A shadow passed overhead that Jon seemed utterly unaware of. Rickon watched a dragon beat its wings slowly, hovering for position to take down the Others, but Jon was ready to charge. Grabbing onto the back of Jon’s clothes, Rickon pulled him back roughly, shoving him toward the tunnel leading to Castle Black.

A tremendous heat hit Rickon’s back, and he pressed Jon further into the tunnel. They seemed stuck in the tunnel for hours, waiting out the thick smoke and slowly edging back North. All the soldiers had their weapons tight in their hands, not willing to risk being caught out. Jon was the most irritable, calling for horses so they could ride out at first sight. The horses were brought, but it was a terribly long time later when they could safely ride out.

Stepping out in the snow that was positively laden with ash, Rickon looked around, ready for another attack. Everything seemed to have slowed down. The urgency was no longer coursing through his system, and he reached out to Shaggydog to locate any future threat. When the direwolf’s senses came back clear, Rickon found he didn’t quite trust them, walking out after Jon on his horse to see the outcome of the dragons’ fire.

Jon rode back in moments later, calling for his maester. Daenerys Targaryen was lying in his arms, looking worse for wear. Riding back to Castle Black, Jon held her tight in his arms, keeping her steady. Suddenly, men were looking to Rickon for orders. He found that he didn’t quite know what to tell them.

“Finish your rotations,” he told the men, sheathing his dagger. “We must care for our fallen.”

\--

Their losses were great, but according to the tallies the realm hadn’t suffered as much as they thought it would. Funerals were held all along the Wall, where names were recited as if they were passing moments and not lives that had been lost. Rickon performed every duty asked of him as King in the North, and Shireen was at his side for every moment of it. He held onto her to keep himself sane, trying to block the chaos of the war from his memory. All around him, warriors were taking similar comforts. Rickon almost never saw Brienne without Jaime at her side, and Arya and Gendry were inseparable. Shireen pointed out his sister and how she was much more affectionate toward Sandor Clegane.

“It’s strange how war brings about so much love,” she mused, helping him pack for their journey back to Winterfell. Shireen had taken care of most the preparations, seeing to Daenerys’s recovery and offering her a place at Winterfell until their coming wedding. Before they departed, Rickon signed a bunch of notes that would be sent to the realm, telling the news of the war. It wasn’t until Shireen was atop Shaggydog, holding out a hand to him that it really struck him.

“We won,” he mumbled, looking up at her. Slowly, he took her hand and she squeezed it gently.

“And now we can go home.”


	37. Chapter 37

Returning to life at Winterfell after the war was even more difficult than Rickon expected. Hearing grievances took up the majority of his time, and Rickon had no break from the war to the return to his kingly duties. Shireen handled most of the concerns, making sure that he had time to rest and recover. Even though Rickon worried about her own exertions, he took the time off, leaving Shaggydog to watch over her.

They carried on in this manner for a week. Then, they sent out official announcements of their marriage, only sending a raven to King’s Landing and relying on word of mouth to bring forth the lords who wished to attend.

Sansa fussed over the wedding, making preparations on her own and only asking Rickon and Shireen about certain specifics of it. Rickon laughed when Sansa demanded the marriage cloak back because Shireen looked positively murderous about being asked to give it up. After Sansa reclaimed the cloak, Shireen walked over to Rickon and hugged him tight.

“Are you ready to be my wife again?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“I never stopped being your wife,” Shireen pointed out, narrowing her eyes at him. “Though, I can imagine the complaints you’ll receive about marrying a pregnant woman.”

Rickon held onto her tighter, reaching down to rub her stomach. “But it’s _my_ child.”

“Generally, marriages are only consummated _after_ the wedding,” Shireen said. “Ever heard of the bedding ceremony?”

“If anyone dares to lay a hand on you…” Rickon started slowly.

Shireen shushed him. “I doubt anyone would try given my condition.”

They milled about their room the rest of the day, only leaving for the feast they were hosting in celebration of their marriage. Whenever any lords or ladies questioned the marriage because of Shireen’s pregnancy, all the Starks loudly pointed out that Rickon and Shireen were already married and that the ceremony was only a formality. Daenerys and Aegon were seated as the guests of honor, and the two of them joined in on correcting the guests. It became a bit of a game for everyone: loudly correcting any infractions before someone beat them to it. Even with the absurdity of it, Arya was winning much to Sansa’s chagrin.

Jon strolled into the hall halfway through the dancing. Ghost followed close behind him, startling some of the guests in the room. After greeting Rickon and his siblings, he went to greet Aegon and Daenerys, asking Rickon to keep Ghost from scaring the Targaryens. However, after a brief exchange, Daenerys walked over with her hands on her hips. She looked down at Ghost, who had gone on all fours next to Shaggydog.

“I have three dragons,” she said loudly. Then she knelt down in front of Ghost and held out a hand to his snout. “You’re not so bad, are you?”

When Shaggydog started growling at her, she looked somewhat frightened, but Shireen silenced him with a hand in his fur. To Rickon’s surprise, Ghost sniffed at her hand before gently licking it. Rickon turned in time to watch Jon go bright red. Behind them, Bran started howling with laughter.

“I’m pretty sure that means he likes you,” Sansa mused, only just loud enough for the company nearby to hear. 

“Ghost?” Daenerys asked, glancing up.

All the Stark siblings began laughing at once, though Jon looked mortified. Rickon leaned onto Shireen’s shoulder, bracing his laughter against her side. She lifted a hand to pat his shoulder weakly. He moved into her, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her stomach. He pressed his lips to her ear. “Do you remember when Shaggy first took to you?” he asked softly, making sure she was the only one who could hear. A warm blush crept onto her face. “When we first arrived at Castle Black, he nearly ran through it seeking out your scent… The things your mother would have said if Ghost hadn’t distracted him. Shaggy nearly attacked me after every lesson to know that scent.”

“Well, that’s because he likes me,” Shireen said firmly, meeting his gaze solidly despite the reddening of her face.

Rickon tipped his head into her hers, brushing their lips together. “I think Shaggy knew I was in love with you before I did,” he said. “It’s a good thing he’s persistent.”

“And a good thing you can say ‘persistent’,” Shireen replied, grinning at him.

Then, Rickon closed their distance, kissing her soundly. With her by his side, the world could easily disappear. Were it not for the shouts from the drunken crowd, Rickon may have ignored them completely, but Shireen pulled away. She was flushed from the kiss and running her hands through her hair. He smiled down at her, lifting her chin to steal another kiss. Then, Shireen curled into his chest.

Looking up, Rickon finally looked past their bubble to see what had occurred while he was preoccupied. Daenerys was standing in front of Bran, leaning onto the table as he explained something to her. Jojen was at his side, constantly running a hand through Summer’s fur. A few feet away, Jon was turning redder by the moment, and Arya was trying to get his attention. Rickon stood up, helping Shireen to her feet. He walked over to Jon and intentionally bumped into him.

“You’ve already changed the vows of the Night’s Watch?” he asked, reaching for Shireen’s hand. Rickon watched Jon nod and swallow, never changing his attention. Rickon gave him a pat on the shoulder. “And she’s a _queen_ … not a princess.”

“Rickon,” Shireen warned, pulling him away.

Wishing Jon luck, Rickon followed his wife from the hall, going to prepare for bed. After all, their wedding was on the morrow. Shireen had managed to convince Sansa that there was no need from them to have separate chambers for just this night. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, breathing steadily and speaking of how their marriage would be after tomorrow.

Rickon woke early the next morning, the muted morning light pulling him from his rest. It was too early in the day for him to consider getting out of his bed, so he pulled Shireen in close and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. Rickon distracted himself by skimming his fingers all over her stomach. It wasn’t until he pressed his hand flat to her belly and felt a definitive movement there that Shireen stirred with a groan.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, moving his hand away and stroking her face.

Blinking up at him, Shireen gave him a weak smile. “Well, it _is_ all your fault.”

They spent as long as they could in bed. Rickon’s hands moved all over her body to pull her close, stroke her hair, rub her stomach, and brush her cheekbones. With soft touches and sweet words, their morning seemed to drag on, and they were entirely unconcerned with their upcoming wedding. Though their coronation was planned immediately after the wedding, Rickon still felt the urge to waste the day in bed and stay with his wife.

It wasn’t until Sansa knocked on the door and broke into their reprieve that Rickon finally allowed the world to seep back in. He slowly parted from Shireen, promising the return of her marriage cloak when he next saw her. Taking a kiss, he left the room and left Shireen to his sister’s devices. As he went into the hallway, he spotted Arya, Meera, and Daenerys waiting to be let in.

“Please return my wife unharmed,” he said threateningly, watching Meera quickly run into the room.

Arya scoffed, walking past him. “She’ll be fine, Rickon.”

“I can send Shaggy in there!” he called.

Daenerys leveled a look at him. “From my understanding,” she started slowly, “that would be cheating.”

Arya appeared at the door again. She grabbed Daenerys by the arm and pulled her in the room. “It is,” she said pointedly. “And you’ll see her at the Heart Tree later, so go.”

The girls disappeared into the room with a bunch of giggles, and Rickon left to wander around the keep and find his familiar. Shaggydog was just around the corner, looking dejected and shoving his snout under his paws. Rickon nudged the direwolf to his feet. He walked out to the courtyard which was already swarming with lords and ladies dressed in whatever finery they could scrounge up after the war. A few greeted him as they went, wandering Winterfell until the time they’d be ushered into the godswood for the wedding. Rickon was surprised at the turnout, especially given the setting in of winter, though he assumed most were here for protection from the coming storms.

Not long after, he found Jon and Aegon keeping company with Gendry in the forge. They were all turned to face something in the back room, not noticing when he walked in. Rickon was halfway to them when Shaggydog caught a scent and rushed forward, scaring the men into stepping back a few paces.

“Nymeria?” Rickon asked now that their attention was on him.

Jon nodded slowly, looking back to the direwolf. Nymeria was sprawled out on her side, not bothering to maintain her façade of being the leader of the pack in the wolfswood. More surprisingly, her stomach also seemed to have grown.

“She’s going to have a litter,” Jon confirmed, looking down at the direwolf. Nymeria gave him a half-hearted growl that Shaggydog finished for her. Stepping back, Jon gave Rickon a comforting look. “Imagine Winterfell becoming full of direwolf pups, with all the new Stark children.”

Rickon smiled at the thought, but Aegon looked horrified. Then, Gendry scowled at Rickon. “You’re not dressed properly,” he said. “Shouldn’t you change?”

Shrugging, Rickon said, “Shireen already knows what I look like.”

“But your coronation,” Aegon said, furrowing his brow at Rickon. “You’re to be king.”

Rickon just shrugged again. “Still a free man,” he pointed out. “They knew I was Skagosi when they brought me back.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “You want Shireen to be all done up with her husband looking like this?”

“Sure,” Rickon said, leaning back against a wall of the forge.

The three men before him all exchanged a look before half-dragging a struggling Rickon back to the keep. On the way there, they came across Bran and Jojen, who merely laughed at him instead of taking sides in the matter. With Rickon continuously spewing insults at them and putting up quite a fight, they somehow managed to get him completely washed and into the Stark clothes that his father used to wear. He was particularly grumpy about it until they took him out to the godswood and gave him the marriage cloak. Rickon made an attempt to snatch it from their hands, but Gendry held it out of reach. Then, Jon helped him put it on.

“I’m supposed to wear it?” he asked.

Jon nodded, altering the way it was draped over his shoulder. “To put her under your protection,” he explained. “As the eldest Baratheon present, Gendry can remove the Baratheon cloak. Then, you’ll replace it with the Stark cloak.”

Furrowing his brow, Rickon thought it over, looking over to the Heart Tree as the godswood filled with guests. Everyone took their places, and he watched Sansa, Arya, and Daenerys walk in, taking their places near the front. He looked to the entrance of the wood as a hush fell over the crowd. To everyone’s surprise, Shaggydog wandered in, going to sit obediently by Rickon’s side. He gave the direwolf a small rub between the ears before looking back.

Then, Shireen was in sight. She was done up splendidly for the occasion: with a black northern dress that had gold trim, her hair pulled back from her face, and a Baratheon cloak over her shoulders. Walking at her side was Ser Davos, standing in for her father and taking her forward. It was only then that Rickon realized they had no septon, and he felt inconsiderate for not representing her gods. Still, Shireen gave him a wide smile, and all his worries vanished. It took all he had not to run to her at this moment. She looked extremely regal, even with her pregnant belly. His Queen in the North.

As she approached the tree, he reached out for her hand. She took it, standing directly across from him. They stared at each other for a full minute before Bran cleared his throat loudly. A small bout of laughter went through the crowd as Rickon shook himself slightly. At once, both Gendry and Ser Davos stepped forward, going to remove the Baratheon cloak. However, Rickon waved them off, and Shireen gave him a confused look.

Swallowing, Rickon looked back to Shireen. He lifted a hand and held it against her greyscale. “You will always be a Baratheon,” he whispered. The godswood was so quiet, he suspected that everyone could hear him anyway. “You will always have your fury, but you also a Stark, under my protection as the King of Winterfell.”

He pulled the marriage cloak from his shoulders slowly, tossing it out around her shoulders and allowing it to settle over the Baratheon cloak. Tears sprung into Shireen’s eyes, though she met his gaze evenly. After he managed the clasp, he stepped into her, tenderly holding her face as he shared a kiss with his wife. Shireen reciprocated the kiss, moving into him until her swollen stomach stopped her. Rickon laughed against her mouth, and she pulled away slightly. “I love you,” she said, smiling at him.

“I love you,” Rickon repeated. He moved around her, bending down to lift her in his arms. Then, he kissed her again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and the direwolves began howling, bringing forth the calls of the entire wolfswood. 

Without letting her go, Rickon carried Shireen back to the keep and into the hall. He only set her down when they were in proper position for their coronation on the dais. Shaggydog led the crowd into the hall, sitting down right behind them. The lords and ladies filled the hall first, then his siblings came in, giving him rather teary smiles. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Rickon settled his gaze on Daenerys Targeryan, who was holding a pillow with two crowns on it.

As she approached Rickon, the crowd went silent. Daenerys beckoned Jon forward to carry the pillow. She picked up the larger of the two: an open bronze circlet that was carved with runes of the First Men and surmounted with iron that had been forged into longswords. Rickon swallowed hard when she held it out closer to him.

“We retrieved this for you,” she said softly. “It was the crown Robb Stark wore just after he was declared King in the North.”

Rickon felt his breath hitch, but he bowed slightly, allowing Daenerys to place the crown on his head. He stood up again, feeling the odd weight on his head. Then, Daenerys took the other from the pillow: a similar bronze circlet, though without the iron embellishments. Shireen bowed shakily, unsteady on her feet. Rickon held her by the waist as the circlet was placed on her head. With a massive smile, Daenerys stepped back. Shireen slowly righted herself, giving Daenerys a small nod.

“The King and Queen in the North,” Daenerys called, raising her voice. “Rickon and Shireen Stark.”

All of Winterfell erupted in cheers, loud applause filling the walls and quite a number of miscellaneous noises made with hands and feet. Slowly, Rickon led Shireen back to their seat, helping her down before taking his own. Looking back to the crowd, he saw Brienne, Aegon, and Gendry walking forward. Gendry pulled out a massive bundle, wrapped up in furs. He placed it on the table, stepping down and returning to Arya’s side. She took his arm, giving him a huge smile.

“A wedding gift,” Aegon said simply. Rickon sat forward, untying the bindings until a long greatsword lay before him. He heard Sansa let out a small gasp. Turning to his sister, he saw Sandor hugging her to his chest as tears sprang into her eyes. Rickon looked to Aegon who said, “We have had your ancestral sword re-forged. I believe it was called Ice.”

Carefully, Rickon ran his hand over the Valyrian steel blade, watching the dark colors glint in the light of the room. He took a deep breath, taking the blade in hand. It was larger than he thought. Had he not grown recently, it would have been longer than he was tall. As it was, the greatsword came to his chest when balanced on its tip. Looking up, he saw warm smiles on both Brienne’s and Aegon’s faces. “Thank you,” he said.

Slowly, people approached them with gifts, though none could take the greatsword from his mind. Knowing that House Stark had lost an integral part of its ancestry at the beginning of the war, Rickon thought on the significance of having it re-forged and returned after the wars were done. Perhaps, peace would come again. With slightly muddled thoughts, he accepted whatever gifts were brought forth, waiting out the crowd’s need for formalities before the feast began.

When everything was finished, he looked over to Sansa expectantly. She just shook her head gently. Then, Daenerys stepped forward, reaching for Jon’s hand. “If I may,” she said. “I would like to announce another union between the North and the South. Jon Stark has agreed to come South as my betrothed and rule the South at my side. After all, he is a Targaryen.”

Rickon carefully watched Jon, who was turning quite red. Still, he never took his eyes from Daenerys. The look he gave her was so reminiscent of the looks he gave Shireen that Rickon couldn’t help the smile from crossing his face. Shireen gave his hand a squeeze, drawing his attention away from Jon and Daenerys. After giving her a smile, he turned back to Daenerys and gave her a curt nod. He watched the pair walk off and stood to call the feast to order. Everyone was seated and served, and a strange silence filled the room while everyone ate. Soon, the noise seeped back into the room, consuming the hall and giving everyone a feeling of euphoria that was long-awaited after the difficulties of the war.

Though they didn’t dance, Rickon stayed at Shireen’s side all night, helping her into and out of chairs. They stopped to talk with as many people as possible. Shireen spent a particularly long time with Ser Davos, who teased Rickon about his obvious affections for her. Rickon took it all in jest, stopping himself from retaliating. He watched over his guests, making sure that no one was giving Shireen any harsh looks. The stigma of her greyscale was still great, and he was going to protect her from any possible harm. As he turned to scan the crowd, he caught sight of familiar blonde hair. Narrowing his eyes, he asked Ser Davos to watch over her as he went to investigate.

He quietly left the hall, sneaking through the doorway where he found the blonde hair. Standing a few paces away was the familiar wildling. Instinctively, Rickon reached for his sword.

“I see you’ve married your monster.” 

“The Queen in the North,” Rickon corrected. He drew the sword and leveled it at her. She raised her hands slowly. “And I believe you were warned to stay away from Winterfell.”

“I come as your subject,” Val said, straightening her back. “The Lord Commander has given wildlings permission to settle on the Gift.” Rickon didn’t drop his sword. Val took a deep breath and took a small step away. “Your wife has proven her strength. I’ll do her no harm, but northerners do not change easily.”

With that, she turned heel and left his sight. Rickon felt a strong sense finality to their meeting. He returned to the hall, taking Shireen in his arms and away from Ser Davos. Spinning her around, he kissed her hair. Shireen beamed up at him, looking flushed and a little dizzy.

“You’d best be leaving,” Ser Davos grunted. “Before your guest begin to call for a bedding, that is.”

Shireen gave Ser Davos another hug before she led Rickon from the room. They returned to their chambers and Rickon automatically went to light a fire before helping Shireen from her dress.

“Do we have to consummate this marriage as well?” he asked, his mouth on her neck as he pulled the dress from her body. Shireen’s flesh prickled from the bite of the cold that was omnipresent in the North, but she let out a deep sigh.

“I suppose not,” she said. “Unless you wish it.”

“I believe as King, my first order of duty is to my queen,” Rickon mused. His hands traced over her hips, settling just below her belly. He held her against his chest and kissed her greyscale.

Shireen leaned against him, holding her hands over his. She twisted her neck to kiss him full on the mouth. He slowly took her to bed, removing his own clothes in the process. Rickon stretched out next to her, curling himself around her when she hooked a leg over his. He laughed at her, struggling to move closer with her stomach in the way. Settling against him the best she could, Shireen kissed his shoulder before drifting off. Rickon stayed awake a few minutes more, his fingers a constant trace over her as he watched the effects of sleep take her over.


	38. Chapter 38

Rickon and Shireen continued to receive wedding gifts of all kinds over the next few weeks. Lords and ladies of the South passed through to give their congratulations to them and see the Dragon Queen. Rickon denied all the gifts they didn’t have need of and requested that they instead offer the North their trade, especially in the coming years of winter. Most agreed before rushing south to the warmer lands that had been abandoned. 

His siblings all seemed to be recognizing familiar faces, leaving the hall with them to talk for quite some time and inviting them to be guests at meals before they departed. By those standards, he and Shireen had almost no visitors. They simply greeted the guests before they were swept away by one of his siblings.

At the first snowfall after the war, Rickon was surprised that Shireen wanted to go for a walk outside. Still, he called for Shaggydog and walked with his wife around the grounds. They caught sight of Jon escaping to the godswood with Daenerys.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t interrupt them,” Shireen said, a grin on her face.

Rickon smirked. “At least he has leave to be with her,” he said. “Could you imagine being in love with an off-limits princess?”

Shireen shook her head at him, leading him in another direction. “I suppose it’d be like falling for a Skagosi wildling when your father has betrothed you to a Frey,” she said. Pulling on his arm, she managed to kiss his jaw. “But they will be leaving soon.”

“On the morrow, I believe,” Rickon said. “Though, Daenerys wished to stay to see our child.”

“Sansa’s maester believes that I still have another month,” Shireen sighed. She looked down to her belly and gently rubbed a hand over it. Shaggydog circled them, sniffing at Shireen’s stomach. “But we will also have direwolf pups to care for.”

“Aye,” Rickon confirmed. “Our child can have one as I had.”

Shireen grinned over to Shaggydog. She gently stroked his fur. “And they’ll be just as wild, I’m sure.”

“Or properly behaved as you were,” Rickon mused, kissing her greyscale. He pulled away and stroked his hands over her cheeks. “As just as beautiful as you are.”

“With your curls,” Shireen said, smiling up to him.

“And your eyes,” Rickon added.

“Your wild nature.”

“Your Baratheon fury.”

They were lost in laughter, wandering the grounds as they shared ideas of what their future held. Together, they pushed through the snow, brushing it away from their hair when it became too heavy. Shireen leaned on Rickon more and more as they went, forcing him to bear extra weight. He took as much of it as he could, easing her journey as they went back to the keep.

Once they were through the doors, Sandor found them, arms crossed in front of his chest. “You have a visitor,” he announced. “He wishes for you to hear his grievances.”

“Just the one?” Rickon asked, eyeing Shireen. When Sandor nodded his confirmation, Rickon and Shireen decided to hear it together, heading into the hall. They took their seats at the end of the hall as they watched an old man hobble in.

The man looked like he was from the slums of King’s Landing – Flea Bottom or somewhere lesser. He wobbled on his feet and was incapable of walking in a straight line. When he stumbled a third time, a woman left from the crowd to assist him, holding him up until he made to bow before them. He opened his mouth to speak and Rickon noticed that he was missing several teeth. Images of harder lives than his filled Rickon’s mind when he noticed that the man was also missing fingers. Though little of his flesh was visible, Rickon saw a multitude of scars that looked strangely intentional. He had seen battle wounds – had suffered many of them himself – and these did not have the same look. The man lowered his hood with his few remaining fingers, unveiling brittle white hair atop his head.

Shireen sat forward in her chair, giving him a warm smile. “Your name?”

“M-my name,” he said, and though his voice was weak it was far younger than his look implied. After a moment of silence, he managed to stammer out, “M-my n-name is Theon Greyjoy.”

Rickon tensed, sitting up in his chair and looking down on this man. Though he had little memory of Theon except for stories told to him by Osha, he didn’t look the proper age. Narrowing his eyes at the man, Rickon stood. “Theon Greyjoy is responsible for the downfall of House Stark during the War of the Five Kings,” he said firmly. “He betrayed my brother and allowed the Boltons to take my home from me. This is a jest in poor taste.”

He turned to Shireen, offering her a hand. She took it, standing slowly and shooting glances at the man. She faced Rickon firmly, giving him a hard look. “I wish to hear him out,” she said. “Even if he lies, he deserves to be heard.”

Rickon looked at his wife, seeing the set of her jaw and the look of determination in her eyes. He gave her a curt nod. “Take Shaggy.”

Shireen nodded in return, calling the direwolf to her side and leaning on him as she went down to see the man. Together, they slowly left the hall. Rickon watched them go, staying in the hall as the onlookers slowly dispersed. He kept his head, knowing that Shaggydog would keep Shireen from any harm she couldn’t protect herself from. He returned to his chambers, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Slowly, he looked over to the Valyrian steel sword that now resided in the corner of the room.

If it was Theon, then he was a turncloak. As King and protector of the North, it was his duty to execute turncloaks on his honor as a Stark. First he needed to await his wife’s return and learn the truth of the matter. It was only a half hour later that Shireen hurried into the room, Shaggydog pressing her forward with his snout. Rickon held out his arms as she nearly fell forward.

“You have to hear him out,” she said. Her breaths were coming short. “I know what he did, but he comes to swear fealty, which he had not done as a ward. And he also has… important information.”

Rickon furrowed his brow, watching Shireen fumble with her words. He couldn’t deny her, though, so he followed her back to the hall. The man was standing in the center of the room, twisting his remaining fingers together. Shireen walked right up to him, and Rickon stayed at her side. The man looked to him before quickly avoiding his eyes.

“King Stark,” he mumbled out. “I am Theon Greyjoy…”

Rickon slowly listened to him talk. He stumbled over his words constantly, unable to properly form them with so many missing teeth. Despite Rickon’s anger at his reappearance, he listened to the story he told: how he became a captive of the Boltons when the Ironborn abandoned him; how he slowly lost and regained his identity before being captured by Stannis’s army; how he assisted Stannis in his attack against the Boltons; and how he was given leave to live out the remainder of his life in exile.

“Why did you return?” Rickon asked. His anger had boiled down to some form of sympathy, no longer filled with the need to kill this man. He simply wanted him gone.

“House Stark has suffered an injustice,” Theon murmured. “By one of your subjects… Th-the lady B-B-Barbrey D-Dustin has the bones of Eddard Stark. She means to keep him from residing in the crypts…”

A new fire burned inside Rickon. He remembered the woman. She had come to him from Barrowtown, offering council with warm smiles during his war against the Ironborn. He clenched his hands into tight fists, looking up to the crowd. “Find her,” he hissed out.

Several people scurried from the hall at once. As a northerner, it was like that she was still at Winterfell, waiting for the Southerners to leave before she returned to her holding. He began pacing the hall, knowing that he was making the onlookers nervous with his actions. Shireen calmed him some, brushing her hands across his shoulders and forcing him to sit. Word of his command spread across Winterfell quickly, and his siblings rushed into the hall. It appeared that Sansa was there merely to comfort him, not knowing what caused his distress.

Just as Shireen was about to explain it to her, the doors burst open and two men carried a screaming woman between them. She was thrown before his seat, and she quickly stood, dusting herself off. “What is the meaning of this?” she called out. “Ladies are not to be handled as such.”

“Have you the bones of Eddard Stark?” Rickon asked, not in the mood to be beating around the bush. He watched the woman looked shocked, then horrified, before settling on a look of disgust.

“Eddard Stark’s bones never made it past Moat Cailin,” she said firmly.

“Yes, you saw to that,” Shireen mumbled, having heard the entire story from Theon. She placed a hand on Rickon’s arm. “We can keep her in a cell while we send men to search her keep.”

Rickon nodded, taking Shireen’s hand and squeezing it in his. He stood up, announcing what Shireen had just told him.

“I would never be treated in such a poor way by a true Stark,” the woman spat out. Rickon ignored the taunt, helping Shireen to her feet for them to leave the room. “Our king is made weak by his bride… marrying some disgusting Baratheon whore.”

Rickon’s breath stopped as Sansa sucked in a sharp gasp. Shireen had frozen beside him, her hand tightening on his. Rickon shot a hard look to the woman still struggling. He raised a hand and the men released her.

“She’ll have no cell,” Rickon said. His voice was quiet but it pierced through the air. Barbrey Dustin had a smug look on her face. Rickon didn’t know what she thought would happen next, but her face dropped when he said, “Bring me Ice and fetch a block.”

Word had carried quickly, and by the time Rickon and Shireen were outside, so was the majority of Winterfell, looking on. Still, he took the greatsword as Barbrey was pushed to the block. “For treason against House Stark by refusing to return my father’s bones,” Rickon started loudly, making sure that everyone knew the crimes for which she would be killed. He went on. “And for insulting your Queen who carries the heir to the North, House Dustin will be stripped of all titles, holdings, and claims. Barrowtown will be searched until my father’s bones are returned. As King in the North, I sentence you to death. Have you any last words?”

“You keep your whore wife and the bastard in her belly,” she called out. “Eddard Stark will never rest in peace.”

Gripping Ice tightly, Rickon raised the blade and allowed it to fall onto her neck. A small shudder went through the crowd. Rickon turned from them, heading straight to the godswood. Just before he entered the line of trees, Jon caught him by the shoulder. “That was one of my last lessons from father,” he said. “‘The man who gives the sentence swings the sword.’ He would be proud of you, Rickon.”

Rickon glanced over to Jon, finally allowing himself to realize how much a Stark he looked. Jon bore a great resemblance to the statue of his father: with the same face and hair. Reaching out, Rickon gave Jon’s shoulder a squeeze. “Winterfell will be sad to see you go again,” he said. “But you will do well in the South. When do you depart?”

“On the morrow,” Jon said. He glanced to the bloodied sword that was still in his hand. “But I’m keeping you from your task. I’ll see you later.”

Continuing into the godswood, Rickon took a seat before the Heart Tree. He grabbed a fistful of snow and used that to clean off the blade as much as possible. Suddenly an oiled rag and a whetstone appeared next to him. Rickon glanced up to see Shireen trying to sit down next to him. He helped her down before taking the rag and finishing cleaning the blade. Shireen leaned against him the slightest amount, her head resting on his shoulder. When Rickon completed the task, he put the greatsword down on the snow and placed an arm over Shireen’s shoulders.

“Does the godswood clear your mind?” she asked with a sigh, looking up to the red leaves.

Rickon nodded slowly. “It helps me understand my decisions better to know that I’ve shared them with the old gods,” he told her. They sat in silence for a while before a thought occurred to Rickon. “Should we marry again? Before your gods?”

Shireen shook her head, a small giggle on her lips. “We’ve already married before my gods,” she said. “Ever since I first came before a Heart Tree, it just felt right. I’ve prayed to no other gods since, but the old gods have answered my prayers: they brought you back to me.”

Leaning over, Rickon kissed her brow before holding her tight in his arms. They sat in the godswood through the beginning of the next snowfall until it looked like it might turn into a storm. Shielding Shireen the best he could, Rickon retrieved their things from the ground, sliding the whetstone and rag into his jerkin before giving Shireen his arm that wasn’t carrying the greatsword. 

They took their dinner in their room that night. Even though it was the last meal the Targaryens would share with them, they were having no festivities to celebrate their stay. Instead, the two families ate in Rickon’s solar, sharing stories and company before they separated for the foreseeable future. Briefly, they discussed the matter of Theon Greyjoy, deciding that despite his ill will during the war, he had done House Stark a great service by returning their father's bones. They eventually agreed that Theon would hold the Dreadfort and oversee it's rebuilding until a Stark child inherited it.

After matters were settled, the usual calm nature returned to the room. Just about everyone wanted to touch Shireen’s belly, feeling the child kick. Rickon didn’t think it was a very good idea, but he let Shireen make the decision. He simply braced her back, letting her rest as she told everyone of how their child was coming along. Both Daenerys and Sansa looked enamored at the thought, smiling at Shireen the entire time.

Leaning over onto Shireen’s shoulder, Rickon ran his hands over her belly, triggering another kick from the child. Shireen groaned, leaning back further into him. She let out a heavy sigh.

“It always hurts more with you touching it,” she mumbled out. “I don’t know _how_ , but it does.”

“Maybe I should stop,” Rickon hissed in her ear. He let his hands leave her stomach and wander through her hair. He held her gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It shouldn’t be long now, though.”

Shireen leaned back, tilting her head to kiss his jaw. Then, she lifted a hand and rubbed his chin, letting her hand drag into his hair and tugging it gently. Collectively, his siblings let out a sigh, and Rickon bit his lip to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Though, looking back at all the stupid smiles, he felt like running from the room anyway. However, he looked down and saw Shireen giving him an equally wondrous smile that washed his worries away. He kissed her, then, ignoring the family that surrounded them, happy to be here with her, no matter who was looking on.


	39. Chapter 39

As time grew near for Shireen to deliver her baby, Rickon grew steadily more protective of her, staying by her side, and Shaggydog followed his lead. It got to the point that Shireen had to force him away to tend to his duties and go on hunts. Whenever he did, he always raced to her side immediately after to make sure she was well. She always greeted him warmly, pretending to brush him off and telling him that she was fine.

The maester who remained at Winterfell, Sarella Sand, took careful watch over Shireen, gathering medicines and herbs for her to begin taking. Though their maester was a woman, Shireen took her word and listened to her instructions. Rickon hadn’t realized that it was strange to have a woman as a maester until the people of Winterfell gave them strange looks, eyeing Sarella’s maester chain. She took it all in stride, telling them of her training in the Citadel, after which Shireen was often at her side, learning as much as she could.

It was some form of luck that a blizzard hit Winterfell the day she went into labor. Rickon had been at her side all day, and, while she brushed off the pains she started feeling, he immediately called for his sisters and carried her to the room prepared for her. Shireen continued to try moving until she let out a particularly loud scream.

“Easy there,” Rickon cautioned. He held her back, bracing her weight and forcing her to lean back. A pile of pillows had been stacked on the bed, but Shireen couldn’t settle on them. Sansa ran in for a quick moment before running out just as fast. Meanwhile, Shireen’s grip on Rickon’s hand tightened significantly. He was starting to think that he would lose fingers from this. He didn’t pull away, though. Rickon simply reached for the ties of her gown, slowly pulling it loose.

Sansa ran back into the room, bringing several people with her. She immediately went to Shireen’s side, trying to soothe her. Someone tried to remove Rickon from the room, and he legitimately growled at them, telling them to fuck off and that he’ll stay where he wants. Shireen let out a weak laugh, letting up on her grip.

“Are you going to bite them?” she asked. Her voice was significantly weaker, and she seemed a bit sleepy.

Rickon gave her a smile, raising their joined hands to press kisses to her knuckles. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he said firmly. “Just say the word.”

Shireen nodded sleepily. Her grip returned on his hand and she pulled him closer. “Just take care of our baby,” she said. “Please.”

“We will,” Rickon told her, holding her up. He sat behind her, letting her weight fall onto his chest. She relaxed only slightly, so Rickon ran his hands over her arms. Words and commands filtered through his ears, but he ignored all of them. Rickon’s focus was solely on his wife, and he blocked out the rest of the room, murmuring into her ear and keeping her awake. Shireen very occasionally responded, though she mostly just let out small whimpers of pain.

The hours that Shireen spent in labor were the longest of Rickon’s life, and as time wore on, he became more and more concerned with Shireen’s health. Shaggydog even wedged himself in the room, sitting on Shireen’s other side and licking her stomach occasionally. Just when things were beginning to look optimistic, Sarella cleared her throat loudly.

“There appears to be an issue,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “The Queen has developed an infection… It is possible that she may not survive if the baby does.”

Rickon froze, unable to bear such news. Shireen, however, sat up further, glaring at Sarella. “You will save my baby,” she said firmly.

“Shireen…” Rickon tried to brush a hand over her shoulders.

Shireen pulled away. “You need an heir,” she said sharply. “It is my only duty as queen.”

“ _We_ need an heir,” Rickon corrected. “I’ll not rule without you.”

“ _You will_.” Shireen was entirely determined, and Rickon had a hard time meeting her gaze. “Our child is more important.”

Rickon didn’t think it was a good trade, but he resolved to listen to Shireen and heed her orders. Before he knew it, Shireen was working at pushing their child from her belly, and panic overwhelmed him. Regardless of how much he would care for their child, he did not want to lose his wife in the process—not after everything he went through to have her. He held her tightly, offering her anything she needed during her incredible task.

There was a moment of silence during which no one was looking at Shireen save for him. She had just gone limp in his arms, her breaths coming short. Rickon shook her gently, running a hand across her brow. Just as he was going to call to her, a cry burst through the room. Tearing his gaze from Shireen, Rickon saw a newborn babe wrapped in a sheet in his sister’s arms. She walked over slowly, holding out the child.

Rickon swallowed, feeling a massive lump in his throat. He refused to release his wife, but he was absolutely enchanted with the sight of new life. Shireen stirred lightly, reaching out for the babe. “There’s no wetnurse,” she murmured, tugging off her covers. Rickon moved into Shireen, wrapping his arms around her and asking Sansa to place the babe in his arms, so he could hold the child for Shireen. Her arms weakly mirrored his, brushing the dark hair of their newborn.

“Is it…?” Rickon trailed off, looking back to his sister.

“You have a daughter,” Sansa said simply. She waved everyone else from the room, pulling Sarella aside for a small talk in sharp whispers. Rickon looked down at his wife and daughter, watching them slowly bring life into the other. Sansa tapped him gently on the shoulder, distracting him from the sight of Shaggydog trying to groom his daughter. “There is still cause for concern. I will send out men for the best medicines available. Take care of her.”

Rickon didn’t know who she meant when she said ‘her’, but Rickon was going to keep both of them alive and safe. He had no other options. He refused to lose his family. When Shireen finished feeding their daughter, she went limp once more, falling into him. Carefully, Rickon eased out from behind her, laying her down in the pillows. He placed their daughter next to Shireen before curling around them both, watching over them as they slept.

\--

Shireen didn’t wake. After a few days had passed, her heart had slowed so much that Rickon spent a long time pressing his ear to her chest, making sure she was alive. They fed her broth, and her breathing seemed to be becoming more difficult. Rickon refused to leave her side. He didn’t leave the room unless it was absolutely necessary, and he denied everyone who came in the chance to care for his child. On his promise to Shireen, he would take care of her.

The maester at the Wall, Samwell Tarly, came down after a letter from Arya, bringing with him a woman called Gilly, a small child, and a babe. She offered to be the wetnurse for his daughter, but Rickon refused. Their child had only ever nursed from Shireen, and he felt like that reliance was keeping her alive. The maester brought with him several herbs and remedies for Shireen: things to help her wake, heal, and recover quickly. Rickon didn’t understand the things Sam tried to explain to him, but he listened to his instructions all the same.

“Does she grow weaker?” Arya asked.

Rickon was holding Shireen up, having her nurse their child. His sister was seated at a chair just next to the bed, fiddling with her fingers. Arya had become a bit more reserved after the war, though he assumed it was because of Nymeria’s condition. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But not better, either.”

Two weeks more passed like this. Rickon cared for his wife who was balancing on the brink of death as he watched his daughter grow. It was a truly miraculous thing: holding an infant. Rickon couldn’t fathom how life had come from his wife, how there was a new human in this world because of her, how he could feel such joy when looking at his daughter even when Shireen was suffering because of it.

The received a letter from the Stannis Baratheon a few days later, and Bran read it aloud to him in the room. Rickon paid little attention to news of the South, but had a different cause for concern when he learned that Shireen’s mother had similar issues when carrying children to term.

“It would seem that Stannis had a few stillborn sons before Shireen survived,” Bran said, skimming the letter. He reached out for Jojen’s hand, squeezing it tight. “He has also sent word for maesters to travel north and provide care, but he fears no one will do so with winter setting in.”

Rickon just nodded, brushing a hand over Shireen’s forehead. She was still warm, but he couldn’t tell if she was colder than usual because of winter or from her current struggle.

“Stannis also wishes to be informed when you decide on a name,” Bran told him. “And, of course, any further news of his daughter’s health.”

There wasn’t much Rickon felt that he could do than agree. He hadn’t yet named his daughter. He wouldn’t without input from Shireen, though his biggest fear was becoming that he would have to name her after Shireen. He lifted the child in his arms and kissed her forehead. In the weeks that had passed, his daughter had begun to look almost exactly as Shireen did, and he was eager to tell her the news.

Rickon continued to sleep next to Shireen every night, their child tucked into the space between them. He would often stay up hours after the moon had risen, stroking Shireen’s hair and moving her hands for her to touch their child. Shaggydog also spent the nights with them, settled across her feet. The direwolf often licked at Shireen’s hands, as if trying to wake her from her deep sleep.

On the night of a full moon, Rickon settled them in bed, exactly as he did every night. He placed an arm around Shireen’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head. With his other hand, he took Shireen’s and gently placed them over the baby sleeping between them. He kissed the crown of Shireen’s head, preparing himself to settle in for sleep.

Just as he was drifting off, Rickon heard a small voice say, “Ric?”

A part of him thought he imagined the voice, and he nearly dismissed it until he felt Shireen’s entire body move with a deep breath. Sitting up, he looked down at Shireen, seeing her half-lidded eyes looking up at him.

“It’s cold,” she whispered. A rush of elation hit him, finally hearing her familiar voice and watching her lips move. He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned his head toward Shireen’s and asked, “Would you like more furs?”

Shireen moved her head the smallest amount to the left and right. “No…” she mumbled. “I-I’m cold.”

Rickon nodded slowly, sitting up further. “Let me help you,” he said. First, he lifted their child and placed her closer to Shireen. Immediately, a smile grew on her face, and one of her hands reached out to stroke their daughter’s cheek. Then, Rickon quickly fetched cloaks, putting one over his shoulders before helping Shireen sit up and securing the other on her. Wrapping up their daughter, he placed her into Shireen’s arms before lifting the both of them and having her sit on top of Shaggydog. Without releasing his hold on her, he managed to climb up himself, wrapping his arms around her and making sure that their child was secure. Then, he clicked his tongue, and the direwolf got to his feet before slowly padding through Winterfell.

Shaggydog was extremely careful with the new load on his back. He just about crawled through every doorway, slowly nudging open doors with his snout. Rickon had Shaggydog lead them outside, where a sharp chill hit him. At the new cold, Shireen leaned back into him, only just holding herself up. Rickon kissed her hair, murmuring kind words into her ear, as Shaggydog continued on to the godswood.

With more care than ever before, Shaggydog went down on all fours before the hot spring. Rickon slid off his back warily, keeping Shireen in his arms and knowing that their baby was in her arms. He set her down in the snow and took their daughter, bundling her up and placing her in between Shaggydog’s front paws. A low rumble went through the direwolf, as he lowered his snout over the child’s belly.

Quickly, Rickon removed all his clothes, standing naked in the snow as he helped Shireen out of hers. Lifting her in his arms, he walked them into the warm water of the pool. Shireen leaned into him, letting out a heavy sigh. At first, Rickon tried to keep her hair dry in attempt to keep the chill from hitting her. However, Shireen was leaning back far, only just turned into him. Rickon released her hair, letting her settle back and float on top of the water. Shireen hummed out a small, pleasant sound, reaching up for Rickon’s face. He smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her. His hands roamed over her body, gently scrubbing at her skin. Shireen let out a small moan at the sensation, allowing him to care for her.

When his hands went to her hair, Shireen submerged herself, coming up with a smile. Rickon combed out her hair before stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. “How are you?” he whispered.

Shireen gave him a look. “How is our child?”

Rickon grinned. “Our daughter,” he corrected. Shireen let out a small gasp, looking over to see the small child being covered by Shaggydog.

“C-can I—?” Shireen started weakly, reaching out for the baby.

Rickon set her down on the shallow bank of the pool. Then, he stretched out on his belly and took the furs from their daughter. He quickly removed the remainder of her clothes and brought her into the pool, placing her in Shireen’s arms.

“A daughter,” she murmured, smiling down at their baby. “We have a daughter…”

Rickon sat next to her, wrapping his arms around them. He kissed at Shireen’s face, allowing her these moments to be distracted by their daughter as her strength returned. Shireen began to coo at the baby, brushing her fingers over the plump cheeks and smooth skin that Rickon had already memorized. Slowly, Shireen began to ask him questions about her, how long it had been, how she was feeding, if she cried much, had she yet smiled… Rickon answered all of them, soothing Shireen’s fears and confirming that their child was well.

“She looks like you,” Rickon pointed out, brushing a hand through the thick black hair on their daughter’s head. “With the same blue eyes…”

Shireen gave him a weak smile. “I had hoped she would look like you,” she said. “But she’s so beautiful.”

“Just like her mother.” Rickon leaned in to kiss Shireen, and she finally turned from the child to accept it on the lips. They kissed soundly, sinking deeper into the water and keeping their daughter afloat.

After a while, Shireen looked up at the face of the Heart Tree, mumbling out, “Thank you.”

“The gods have surely answered all of my prayers,” Rickon said. He pulled Shireen close and leaned down to press a kiss to his child’s face. “The both of you are safe.”

“Did you name her?” Shireen asked, looking back down at the child. Her fingers were a light trace over their baby’s arms, one of her fingers getting caught in the small grip of their daughter.

“No,” Rickon admitted. He kissed at Shireen’s greyscale. “I couldn’t think of a name for her… and I didn’t know if you wanted to name her for your mother or perhaps… yourself…”

“Rickon,” Shireen said gently, pulling him down for another kiss. She moved away, keeping a hand on his neck to keep him close.

“I was worried about you,” he murmured, looking into her eyes. He was overjoyed to see them looking at him intently once more, no longer blurred by pain or sleepiness. “Perhaps, we shouldn’t have any more children.”

Shireen laughed at that, kissing him again. She pressed into him, holding their daughter between them. “If you’d like,” she said.

“But we still need to name this one,” Rickon reminded her, gesturing to their daughter.

Shireen followed his gaze down, looking at the small girl in her arms. “I have an idea.”


	40. Chapter 40

Epilogue:

The major storms of winter were finally calming down, and Winterfell was buzzing with the new life finally exploring the outside terrain. A litter of direwolf pups roamed the keep freely, amusing the small children and causing some worry for what the future held when they were full grown. Almost as a compliment to this, Arya’s belly had begun to swell, causing her much teasing from Sansa and a number of japes that Shireen paid to Gendry. Rickon simply accepted his sister’s choices, allowing her to go about as she pleased, particularly since she helped run the keep while he tended to Shireen’s recovery.

Meanwhile, Sansa had finally married Sandor, much to Shireen’s joy. Rickon nearly forbade the marriage when Sandor asked _him_ for permission. It wasn’t until Sansa explained to him that he had already asked that he agreed to sit through their marriage. Shireen, of course, planned Sansa’s wedding for her, keeping it small as she had asked. The timing of the marriage was perfect, as Winterfell was hit with heavy storms for the next few months. Rickon was glad for the excuse to be stuck in the keep, and he spent all his time watching his daughter grow and begin to start wandering on her own.

With the passing storms, the Starks of Winterfell received two significant gifts. One of them was expected—from Barrowtown. The bones of Eddard Stark were finally returned and given proper rights as they were laid to rest in the crypts. Rickon and Shireen had gone down that day, watched as Sansa and Arya placed the bones in the proper place. The other gift was a surprise, but accepted nonetheless: the bones of Catelyn Tully Stark. They came unmarked, with no note to tell who had delivered them or kept them for so long. At Gendry’s request, he checked the bones, along with Brienne of Tarth, and they confirmed that it was, indeed, the Lady Catelyn. Sansa cried nearly the entire day, and Arya joined her. Rickon sympathized but he sought out Bran’s company instead, asking for stories of their mother to try and help his memory.

Bran somehow survived the blizzards, though Jojen did not. While the Starks believed that Bran would be devastated over the loss, Bran seemed to take it well. However, he did spend an increasing amount of time visiting the Heart Tree with Meera and Summer. The Reeds came to visit at Rickon’s request, and he told them the news of their son, along with how he would be buried in the crypts at Winterfell. Meera filled them in on the news, breaking it to her father gently as they mourned Jojen’s death.

It was right after the mourning of Jojen Reed and one of the biggest storms Winterfell had seen that Rickon waited outside the gates, Shaggydog at his side. He was waiting to greet the approaching party of no more than seven people. As they came into view, Rickon couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. At the front of the party was a tall woman with shaggy brown hair. Her clothing looked remarkably familiar, and Rickon didn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. She looked much older than Rickon remembered, but he never forgot the sight of her warm, maternal smile.

“Looks like the little lordling has grown,” she greeted.

“And you haven’t been done in yet,” Rickon countered. “We’ve both cause to be surprised.”

She laughed, then, throwing her head back and placing her hands on her hips. Sheepishly, Rickon opened his arms, and his surrogate mother gave him a massive hug. He breathed in her familiar scent, remembering all the smells of Skagos and how she was the memory of his past and his survival. Osha hugged him tight, only just releasing to give him a grin.

“Now, these men here tell me you’re king,” she said, turning him around and walking him into the keep. “And I know they can’t be stupid enough to let a wildling rule the North.”

Rickon laughed, watching Shaggydog sniff at the wildling woman. Osha remembered him, not bothered by his increased size, and she rubbed him between the ears. “They gave me a crown and everything,” Rickon said. “Taught me my letters real well.”

“Didn’t bother with your talk?” Osha japed, and Rickon realized he had been speaking the way he had back on Skagos.

“That’s just for you, old woman,” he retorted. “I gotta make you feel at home.”

“This is my home, little lordling,” she replied, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Well, come in, then,” Rickon said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Rickon led her through Winterfell, and Osha commented on how the keep looked just as it had before the sack. She met Arya and Sansa, both of whom thanked her for watching over Rickon when they fled. Bran, however, was another series of jokes and japes. They stayed for a long time in Bran’s rooms, as he told them of his journey after their departure, traveling beyond the Wall and learning all about warging and secrets of the Children of the Forest. Osha only left after giving Bran a long, smothering hug. Then, Rickon led her back to his rooms.

“Have I met them all, then?” Osha asked.

With a smirk, Rickon said, “Not quite.” He opened the door, finding Shireen corralling their daughter around the bed. “I wanted you to meet my wife.”

Shireen only just managed to lift their daughter into her arms when Osha burst out laughing. She gave Rickon a hard pat on the back. Shireen giggled, watching the two of them. Walking over, she handed their daughter to Rickon before giving Osha a hug. Osha returned it, giving Shireen a huge smile.

“You’ve got a strong one,” she said, tapping Shireen on the cheek. “Survived greyscale and everything.”

Rickon grinned, glad to know that Osha shared his thoughts on Shireen’s strength. He watched the two women regard each other as he took a seat on the bed, bouncing his daughter on one knee.

“I suppose that one’s yours?” Osha asked, her fists on her hip. She was bent over, looking at the gurgling child. She held out her hands for his daughter.

With a quick glance at Shireen, Rickon handed her over, watching Osha hold her gently and cradle her against her chest. He thought back to his childhood, knowing that Osha hadn’t cared for him when he was so young, but not being bothered by the thought. Shireen walked over and took a seat next to him, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. She was smiling at Osha, watching her care for their child, undoubtedly having similar thoughts of what he was like when he was younger. After a few moments, Osha turned to them.

“Well, what did you name her?” she asked.

“Osha,” Rickon said, a little slowly. He reached out to wrap an arm over Shireen’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. Carefully, he watched Osha, waiting to see her reaction.

“Aye, boy,” Osha replied. She looked over and narrowed her eyes at Rickon, with a small amount of annoyance. “You’ve a child. What’s her name?”

“Osha,” Rickon repeated firmly. “Her name is Osha. Osha Stark.”

The wildling woman froze. Her jaw dropped as she slowly looked back to the child in her arms. Tiny, little Osha was pulling at her hair, making small fists and tugging with all her might. When Osha looked back up to Rickon, the baby stuck a hand in her mouth, trying to get at her teeth. Shireen immediately stood, going to take back her daughter to stop her from picking fights with her grandmother. However, Osha just lifted her up, giving her a small glare.

“Your father thinks he can win my favor with a name,” she told the child. “We’ll show him. I’ll turn you into the greatest wildling warrior he’s ever seen.”

Rickon and Shireen shared a laugh, watching the woman coddle their daughter. He cleared his throat and said, “She may become a wildling warrior, but she will be queen, as well.”

Osha gave him a confused look.

“He said he’d reclaim Winterfell for you,” Shireen said, giving Rickon a small smile. “But instead, you’ll inherit it. Osha Stark is the heir to the North.”

Osha laughed, carrying the child in her arms. She looked down at their daughter before giving Rickon and Shireen a warm look. Then, a wide grin spread across her face. “Aye,” she said brightly. “The greatest gift: The Queen of Winterfell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously can’t believe that this is over. Special thanks to everyone who followed this through to the end! I seriously don’t know if I would have made it to completion without all of your kind words and interest in this story. It means so much to me that you kept up with this, and I love you all so much!
> 
> Here’s to the next big thing! Cheers!


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